Whatever it takes
by Fayth3
Summary: Peter and Emma are engaged. Why is best buddy Sylar not as happy as they are? Please note- RATING HAS CHANGED.
1. Chapter 1

The milkshakes here are the best in the whole state, the chocolate just the right shade of brown, the strawberry the right mix of sweet and bitter and the banana just the right sort of tangy.

"So, with all the choice," Peter asked, "why do you always go for vanilla?"

Sylar shrugged as he tugged the tall glass closer to him. "What can I say, I like the simple things."

"That would explain the clothes," Peter sassed and Sylar grinned.

It was good, so good to have someone so comfortable with him that they could tease him; that they felt safe doing so.

It had taken a while, longer than the five years they had been trapped together in his mind but finally Peter was there and it felt wonderful. Of course he wasn't the only one. Emma had never seen him pre-Parkman so she didn't know that there was anything to be scared of and Angela had enough dreams of his heroism that she was...well, a little less antagonistic but it was a start.

There was also Eli and Edgar who stopped in from time to time and even Dr. Suresh emailed from India to offer hints on how to control himself.

He actually had a circle of- if not friends- then people who could stand to be around him.

So why was he feeling so low?

He stirred his milkshake and sighed.

"Wow, dude. That's a heavy load," Peter poked him in the shoulder. "C'mon, man. Lighten up. For once we're off duty."

"A hero is never off duty."

There was a beat before they both cracked up. Peter wiped the tears from his face.

"Oh god, I can't believe you could say that with a straight face! You've been hanging out with Hiro way too much."

Sylar shrugged. "He's an odd little man, keeps calling me 'Severus Sylar'."

Peter had taken a mouthful of milkshake but almost choked at that. "Severus Sylar?"

"Apparently I have much in common with an evil wizard who turns out to be basically good. Sort of."

Peter thought about that. "It's because you wear a hat."

Sylar snorted and pushed his milkshake away. A waitress hurried over and grabbed the glass.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?"

Sylar shook his head and tossed her a smile as she walked away.

Peter laughed softly and Sylar frowned at him. "What?"

"Is there anything else I can get for you, sir," Peter mocked breathlessly.

"What?"

"That woman was totally hitting on you and you didn't even notice."

Sylar flicked a gaze up at the waitress who was still looking. She smiled at him and fluttered her eyes.

She was tall, blonde and slim. She was movie-star gorgeous and into him and he was... so not interested.

His gaze went back to Peter and he shrugged again. "So what?"

"So what?"

Peter was more than a little concerned. In the past few years since they had stopped Samuel he had watched his friend go from strength to strength. Sylar had saved Emma and then joined forces with them to find people who were manifesting abilities and actually help them.

After Samuel's little display, Noah had convinced Claire that now was not a good time to show people what they could do and she had agreed. The reporters might have thought she was weird and wonderful for not dying when she jumped off the Ferris Wheel but pretty soon someone would point to the Earthquake and the sink holes and realize that not all specials were nice young co-eds.

So the specials hid in plain sight. In her mother's legacy, Amanda started to build that community on the plains and she had been joined by Tracey Strauss and the rest of the Carnies who carried on; the broken pieces of family more jagged and more precious than ever. It was a real thriving community now and Tracey was even applying for 'town' status. Of course locals thought it was a cult, but that was okay. It was a place for any special to go and plenty needed it.

It was Ian, the once homeless guy in central park, who had asked Emma and Peter if they could find others who had been lost, like himself, and tell them that there were others like them and offer them the opportunity to live at the community- affectionately named 'Josephville'.

They had agreed and forged a new sort of Company, not to bag and tag but to prove and soothe; to find those who were struggling with their power and show them that they were not alone.

With his unique cocktail of powers Sylar could prove to those reluctant to accept their powers that there were such things, he could also see how their power worked and, with the empathy taken from Lydia and Parkman and others he could sense what the special needed and give it to them.

Hundreds if not more people had been helped, saved, because of Sylar and each time Peter had seen Sylar grow. But lately his friend had seemed to slip slightly. His grin wasn't as ready and his sarcastic remarks were almost rote and delivered halfheartedly at best. Had Sylar become sick of being a good guy, a hero, already?

Anyone else would have been worried. Anyone else would have their eyes trained to every movement Sylar made, anyone else would become mistrusting. But not Peter.

He reached over and touched Sylar's hand.

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?"

Sylar scratched at his arm and sighed. "It's nothing."

Peter's face darkened. "Is it Noah, is he giving you a hard time again?"

Noah Bennett had helped them on their little venture by giving them the files he had collated in his time with the company. The files were comprehensive and they had spent the first two years seeking out those that the Company had tagged and offering them haven. It didn't mean that Noah was any easier to get on with, especially since the C.I.A had offered him a job along with Lauren.

He helped, but he could be real nasty about it.

"No, it isn't him. I don't wanna talk about it," Sylar shook himself. "So, when is your pretty lady friend getting here, huh?"

"Talking about me?"

Peter turned to see Emma creeping up behind, she had obviously read Sylar's lips and she grinned happily at being able to surprise Peter. Like always his face lit up at the pretty blonde and he tugged her into his lap.

"Hey. Beautiful." He signed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She beamed back and shifted so she could see both him and Sylar.

"Hello, Sylar."

Sylar smiled. "You look more beautiful every day, Emma," he signed, "run away with me?"

Emma laughed and even Peter's lips lifted into a half-smile. "Get your own lady-friend, Sylar. This one's mine."

The smile faded from Sylar's eyes as Peter ordered another three drinks.

Emma leaned forward, touching his hand. "You okay?"

He nodded and they exchanged pleasantries while they waited for their drinks.

The waitress sashayed over and bent a little too much as she delivered them and Peter shook his head in wry amusement as Sylar pretended not to notice.

He waited until she was safely back behind the bar before asking. "So why did you two drag me all the way out here. It wasn't just for the milkshakes."

Peter exchanged glances with his beloved and then lifted her hand to show Sylar the rather large ring on her finger.

"We're engaged."

A real smile lit Sylar up from inside. "Wow, congratulations. That's amazing... and about time, you've only known the girl for eight years."

"Three years," Emma corrected.

"I'm counting the five in my head too."

"Cheating."

"It's great, it really is." He sounded sincere but Peter had spent years alone with this man and knew different.

Peter watched him for a moment. "Then how come your eyes say different?"

"Eyes lie," Sylar sipped his drink, avoiding Peter's intent gaze. "I'm happy for you."

"Maybe one day I'll be happy for you too."

"Unlikely," Sylar said, his voice pitched just low enough that he didn't intent Peter to hear.

But he did and suddenly everything made sense to Peter. Sylar had become withdrawn ever since they went to Ando and Kimiko's wedding. Noah was dating Lauren and even Claire had dipped her foot into the dating pool when West showed back up briefly. Then there was Hiro who found his Charlie again and Edgar who finally confessed to Tracey that he had a thing for her. Mohinder was married, Matt was married and now Peter and Emma.

Everyone had someone except for Sylar.

"Shit, man. I'm sorry." Peter winced. "I didn't mean to rub your face in it or anything."

Emma patted Peter's hand, confusion etched on her face as the conversation flowed too fast for her to lipread.

"What?" She signed.

"Sylar has no lady-friend," Peter told her. "He's alone."

"Oh," Emma's face fell and Sylar felt like he'd kicked a puppy. It was one activity that he'd never tried, animals tended to dislike him and a kicked puppy was a savage puppy. But he'd always assumed he'd feel some sort of guilt if he tried. Dogs were nicer than people, after all.

He shook his head at Emma. "It's all right."

"You will find someone," she offered.

"What about the waitress?" Peter thumbed over his shoulder. "She's pretty."

Emma raised an eyebrow at him.

"In a totally non-pretty kind of way."

Sylar smirked. "Whipped. But no," his face fell again to that blank mask that Peter hated. It reminded him of the old Sylar who repressed so much only for it to spill out in other people's blood.

"Why not?"

"Because she's not like us... like me." He raked a hand through his hair. "It's alright for Mohinder or even Matt with one ability. Suresh just has to keep his strength down and Parkman keeps his nose out of people's heads. Their wives can deal with that. Me?" He raised his hands and electricity crackled briefly before he fisted it again. "First I'd have to find a normal who could deal with the idea of powers without trying to turn us into the government. Then she'd have to fall for me knowing what we do and what I can do. One bad argument and she's toast. And what if she finds out about the other things that I've done? No. Normal is not for me."

"Then what about someone at Josephville?" Peter leaned forwards. "Sophie is nice and she likes you, plus her water ball power would-"

"Electrocute us both?" Sylar's smile was humorless. "No. Besides I don't feel anything for Sophie."

"How about Grace, or Kara? Oh, Sukie's sweet enough."

"No."

Emma stared at Sylar. She'd suspected something for a while. Being deaf meant that she was finely attuned to all sorts of body language and she had been watching Sylar carefully ever since Peter told her he was worried.

Now she leaned over and patted his arm. "It's someone else, isn't it?"

His eyes leaped to hers and panic showed in his face. "I-"

"Who?" Peter frowned. "You got your eye on someone, Syle, and you didn't tell me?"

"There is nobody." Sylar glared at Emma, trying to persuade her to drop it.

She wasn't scared of him. Had never been. He was her savior and she adored him for that and she wasn't about to be frightened off.

"Come on, you can tell me," Peter teased, "you know, unless it's Emma. Or Claire."

It was a flinch. A tiny insignificant flinch but Peter caught it and his brain ground to a halt.

"Claire?"

Sylar sighed and pressed his fingers into his eyes. "Why did I stop killing people?"

"Because the dead don't invite you over for milkshakes," Peter responded automatically. "Seriously Claire?"

"Yes fine," Sylar exploded, "I have a thing for the cheerleader. It's sad, its pathetic. I know that. It's wrong. I'm old enough to be her father, I've killed people including both her parents and, oh, there's the small fact that I opened her skull and played with her brain."

A passing waitress gave him an odd look and he toned his voice down.

"You can see why she might be a touch reticent," he continued but Peter wasn't listening, instead he was staring at Sylar like he hadn't seen him before.

"Claire?"

"Are we moving past this anytime soon?" His face was starting to pink and a flush of anger was overlaying the embarrassment. He was well aware of how ridiculous his crush on the cheerleader was, he had known for some time. Only it wasn't a crush anymore. Perhaps when he had first sliced open her skull he had admired the little dimples she had when she was pleading for her life. And when he had killed her mother he adored the fire in her eyes but somewhere between the Stanton Hotel and the janitor's closet his feelings had gotten a little- complicated.

Five years of being alone with nothing but his thoughts and a tattoo of her on his arm and three years of seeing her whenever she dropped by to see Uncle Peter was enough to convince him that Lydia had been right. What he needed, what he truly desired was etched into his skin and on his heart.

A young blonde with fire in her soul and hate in her eyes.

"You know," Peter said slowly, "that actually makes more sense than it doesn't."

Sylar lifted his head from his hands. "What?"

"You and Claire. You've always had some sort of connection and you're the only two people who can't die. Guess you're gonna be stuck with each other for all of eternity anyway."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Romantic."

"It would be except for one small fact...of yeah, she's hates me," Sylar rolled his eyes. "Even now. Everything I've done to prove to her, to everybody, that I've changed and she still won't look me in the eye and see me, she sees the serial killer not the savior."

"Well, aside from the weird Christ complex you just displayed," Peter shifted uncomfortably, "I can't see it as being completely hopeless. I mean, she forgave Doyle and he made her dance like a marionette and keeps calling her barbie."

Sylar's cocked his head in a mixture of confusion and sheer bemusement. "Wait, does this mean that you approve of my choice, _Uncle_ Peter?"

"I approve of your taste," Peter hedged, "and yeah, I can see it." He straightened suddenly. "In fact, I think it's a great idea."

"You also think that shirt is a great idea," Sylar said witheringly, "your lifestyle choices don't exactly inspire me with confidence."

Peter smirked. "Now there's the Sylar we know and love. I've never known you to back down from anything."

"One again, forgetting the part where she hates me!"

"If Claire hates you then you have to change her mind. I don't want my niece to be alone for the rest of forever with someone she hates... or thinks she hates."

"Besides I don't think she hates you," Emma signed.

Sylar looked at her with interest. "Why do you say that?"

"Girls know these things. She's conflicted, yes. But hate is too strong a word. She needs to spend time with you. Get to know you. Try being extra nice to her, buying her things and helping her."

Sylar thought about that for a moment. "And you think that will work?"

Emma sat back. "It worked for Peter."

Sylar watched as Peter's expression softened and he leaned forwards to kiss his fiancee.

It had worked for Peter, but then Peter was a much nicer person to get on with in the first place. Peter was special. He was the one who had given Sylar a chance, he was the one who had extended his apartment, his family and his friendship to Sylar. Peter held the utmost belief in people in general, he was very much like Claire.

She also wanted to believe the best in people and wanted to trust, to please, to love.

Instead of stepping back and allowing her time to come to terms with the fact that he was a changed person, maybe he had to do what he did with Peter. Okay, maybe not get locked with her inside his head for five years but being around her, forcing her to acknowledge him and his differences.

See him for who he was now rather than what he had done.

He leaned back and scratched his forearm as he watched Emma and Peter grin and hug and kiss and just be with each other. That was what he needed, what he craved and what he was going to get..

It wouldn't be easy but then nothing he had ever wanted had been.

And he wanted Claire.

Sylar raised his milkshake glass. "Here's a toast, then, to making things work."

"To making things work!"

Whatever it takes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He could soar three hundred feet in the air in seconds; he could alter every cell in his body to become someone else completely; he could even, at a pinch, knock off a convincing Monet in a matter of hours but he could not seem to make a cake without covering both himself and the kitchen in icing sugar.

It was impossible.

He'd tried using both his freezing and his disintegration skills but all that left were cold piles of the stuff everywhere. Apparently the key molecular state of sugar... was sugar. He'd even tried becoming Delia Smith to see if that helped, but no, and here he was, guests arriving any minute, covered in icing sugar.

"Hey man, did you find the bottle open-" Peter's voice faded as he peered into the kitchen. He took one look around, noting the apron-toting serial killer with white powder everywhere. His face cracked into a beaming grin. "Wow."

"Don't," Sylar warned him as he wiped at the counter, sending a white dust cloud into the air. It hung around for a second and then settled right back on the counter top.

"Dammit!" Sylar threw the cloth at the surface and glared menacingly at the offending confection.

Peter snickered.

"It's not funny," Sylar growled, "this is the fifth time I've tried cleaning this." His frustration was evident as blue sparks flickered between his hands and Peter didn't even try to stifle the laugh that erupted.

"The mighty Sylar defeated by sugar. If I knew that this was all it took-"

"Sugar is evil," Sylar decided as he swept one hand over the counter. His telekinesis caused it to hover over the surface and with a grin he sent it sailing into the bin. "Aha, got you."

In defiance a small poof of white dust hung over the bin, settling back on the surface. Sylar's grin dropped.

Peter realized that now might be a good time to intervene as static slid over his friend's hands. Sylar might be redeemed but he still had one hell of a trigger temper.

"Why don't I clean the rest of this up and you go change."

Sylar frowned. "What's wrong with how I look?"

Peter bit his lip. "You dressed _before _you baked right?"

"Right."

Peter reached over and ruffled Sylar's hair. It rained snow white flakes.

Sylar took a deep breath and let out a stream of curses that had Peter gaping. When he'd finally run out of creativity, he dropped his shoulders and swiped his hands on his apron.

Peter leaned against the counter. "I didn't even think that last one was possible."

"It's not," Sylar breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, "at least not without telekinesis, contortion and a pineapple."

"I'll take your word for it." Peter slapped him on the back sending another cloud into the air. "Go freshen up, buddy, I got this."

Sylar nodded and reached up to rub at the back of his neck. He knew his muscles were tense and it was due to more than his ongoing battle with confection. He'd always hated social gatherings.

Gabriel wasn't exactly Mr. Popular at school and his mom had never made a secret of the fact that she hated visitors. He had gone through most of his life without one friend staying over let alone a house full.

But Peter was sociable. Peter was forever inviting this one and that one over, and being Peter's roommate meant that he had to get used to being in a crowd. It made his teeth ache and his back itch but he had to deal with it.

Of course this being Peter's engagement party there was going to be plenty of people that Sylar knew, a few of whom he liked, fewer of whom actually liked him. That didn't mean that unpleasantness couldn't erupt. People with a grudge and alcohol made for a dangerous combination; but Sylar couldn't deny Peter and Emma this.

Not since Peter had taken him into his home, offered him a roof and a shoulder and a friend. Once Peter had realized that Sylar had been living in hotels and his victim's houses and that he didn't really have anywhere of his own, he had insisted that Sylar come to live with him.

Everyone thought Peter was crazy, allowing his brother's murderer into his home, but not everyone knew the truth; that Peter had needed someone just a badly, if not more so, than Sylar.

The death of his brother, the truth of his own abilities and his fragility had knocked Peter down. He had been scraping at a very dark place and he had needed Sylar to help him crawl and claw his way out of the dark hole he found himself in.

For once, Sylar's empathic mimicry came in more than handy and he held Peter while he grieved and healed when Peter erupted and stayed silent at the 'family' gatherings where Peter pretended to be okay. Until he was.

Now that both of them were as healed as they were ever going to be, Peter had made his commitment to Emma and for some unknown reason that meant inviting all of the people they had ever known to come and eat them out of house and home. And he was supposed to enjoy it. And not eviscerate them all.

Still, at least he had both Emma and Peter as back-up should any craziness start.

The ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his thoughts and a genuine smile slid over his features. Emma was probably early, wanting to spend as much time with her new fiancee as possible. Or she'd come to check on them and make sure that Sylar hadn't caved and just opted to order pizza

Sylar reached for door, dusting off his sleeves as he yanked it open. "I didn't let him order, I swear-"

He trailed off as he was faced, not with the tall blonde deaf doctor, but a short blonde suspicious graduate.

"Claire."

She swallowed hard and her eyes skittered away from his. "Uh, hey."

"Hey."

He drank her in. She was a sight for sore eyes. Despite living not too far from here and being devoted to her uncle, Claire managed to avoid the apartment and, as an extension Sylar, as much as possible, opting to meet Peter in restaurants and coffee shops. It hadn't been missed by Sylar that although Emma, and even Angela, were often present, his own invitation was habitually mislaid. Not that he could blame her, but he did wish so much-

Still she was here now and dressed in a short deep-blue dress that set off her eyes and her honey-blonde hair to perfection. She was beautiful and growing up nicely. She was also staring uncomfortably over his left shoulder.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Can I come in?"

Sylar jolted. "Yes, of course, sorry. Please." He stepped back and she reluctantly followed him over the threshold, eyes searching for her uncle.

Remembering Emma's words, he sought for something nice to say.

"It's good to see you."

She shifted uneasily. "Where can I put this?"

For the first time he registered that she held a tray in her hands, something that smelled good.

"The kitchen. What is it?"

"Lasagne," Claire shrugged, "Peter asked me to bring it, is... is he here?"

Sylar almost sagged at her obvious desire to get away from him. But he had expected this. He would be met with opposition at first, he just had to deal with it and forge ahead.

"He's in the kitchen."

She nodded and tried to move past him

"You look lovely, Claire."

She paused and her eyes flickered over him. There was a twist to her lips as she answered. "And you look _interesting_." She flitted past him, leaving him frowning in confusion.

Hearing her greet Peter with far more warmth Sylar decided to go and freshen up. It was when he looked into his mirror that he understood her hidden grin.

With a white apron tied to his waist; trousers, shirt and face liberally smeared with white dust and hair sticky and speckled, he looked like an extra from a bad Japanese horror movie. Hardly the suave, sophisticated charmer he had hoped to show. It was a great first impression- Sylar the friendly ghost.

He groaned out loud and headed to the bathroom.

By the time Sylar had re-showered and changed the guests were arriving and he was forced to play nice with others.

Emma reached up and kissed his cheek as he passed her in the kitchen, reaching out for more nibbles. Thankfully the kitchen no longer resembled a battle zone.

"You clean up good," Emma beamed at him.

"Thanks. Are you having fun?"

Emma gestured at the air. "Everyone is."

Sylar looked up to the ceiling where he could see tendrils of purple and pink and soft blue swirl around the lampshade. He'd gained Emma's ability not long after their encounter with Samuel and it had been one of the first abilities that new Sylar mastered without the use of scalping. Those pastel colors meant peace and happiness and contentment. Everyone was having fun.

He smiled. "Good."

"Ah there you are, babe," Peter said as he edged into the room, "Noah's arrived."

Sylar stiffened as the man in the horn-rimmed glasses sauntered into the room like he owned it.

"Emma!" he greeted and then his face fell as he registered the room's other occupant. "Gabriel."

Sylar twitched and he clenched his fists. "I don't go by that anymore. My name is Sylar."

"My mistake." The smirk twitching around Noah's face made Sylar itch to just punch him out. He knew that Sylar wanted to disassociate himself from his origins as much as possible. Gabriel Gray was a scared, insecure little man who'd handed his soul over to devil in a Faustian deal to make himself special. Sylar was the result and he was not going to turn his back on all he had done and all he had achieved by resorting to renaming himself after that spineless wreck.

He was Sylar- the good, the bad and the psychotic.

He grabbed a drink and bit back on the snarl that wanted to slide from his mouth.

"So, I hear you found an re-animator," Noah smiled slightly, "I always found that to be a truly creepy power. Not the creepiest I've ever heard of," his eyes flickered towards Sylar, "but even so."

"Nah, Justin was a good kid. He used it to bring the frogs in Bio class back to life." Peter grinned, "It was kinda fun to watch actually."

"Still, resurrection?" Noah inclined his head.

Sylar knew what was coming even and he braced himself against both the attack and the insinuation.

"That's an impressive power wouldn't you say, Sylar?"

"Cut it out, dad."

Noah's whole demeanor changed at those three words. "Claire!"

The blonde stood in the doorway and folded her arms over her chest as she glared at her father. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"What?" His protestations of innocence weren't fooling anyone and Claire huffed.

"Taunting, manipulating. You can't switch it off, can you?"

"I was just having a friendly chat with Peter, Emma and Gabriel."

"Sylar."

Noah didn't even spare him a glance. He moved closer to his adopted daughter and lowered his tone. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Still mad."

Noah tried a sympathetic smile. "It's been five years, Claire-bear. Can't we at least talk about this?"

"Sure. I'll pencil you in for never, how's that sound?"

Sylar wanted to applaud. Claire had graduated with honors from the Class of Sarcasm. She had the right tone down and everything. Even Noah could tell that she wasn't relenting on this.

"You have to forgive me sometime."

She eyed him carefully. "And that will be on my time, when I'm good and ready and not before. Until then you could help by not harassing people at my friends engagement party."

Claire turned on her heel and walked away. Noah gave him one last glare and stalked away in the opposite direction.

"Well, that was... awkward." Sylar cleared his throat.

Peter nodded and then grinned. "But hey, bright side, she's upgraded you to 'people'."

"Well thank you, that gives me real hope," Sylar deadpanned.

"Glad to help, buddy," Peter slapped him on the back. "How about you go talk to her?"

He wandered off before Sylar could answer, assuming that he would just take the opportunity to speak to the girl he so wanted.

And of course he would.

It did take a while before he managed it, though. Edgar wanted to show him some new moves he had picked up which required him to stand still and allow knives to be thrown at him, much to the delight of Noah Bennett. Then Ando wanted to show him pictures of Kimiko's sonogram and Valerie, a new member of the Carnival family, wanted to get better acquainted- she was well endowed but was also sixteen and more than slightly drunk. He pointed her tipsy self towards the coffee and tried to avoid Hiro's over enthusiastic welcome.

It wasn't until the party was in full swing, when the alcohol and conversation flowed in equal measure, and with complete lack of inhibitions, that he finally found her again.

Sylar took a deep breath and headed out after the ex-cheerleader. She was standing on the balcony, staring out at New York City in the fading sunlight, her hair a halo of gold.

He stepped out and leaned against the door, staring at her as she all but shone.

"Take a picture," she said, "it'll last longer."

"It would also be considered stalking." He quipped. "Besides, we both know that you and I will outlast any photograph."

Claire inclined her head and shifted away from him. "I guess we will at that. Huh."

"What?"

"I just... never thought about it like that. I mean, I figured I'd live beyond my parents and friends and everyone else but I always thought I'd at least have photographs to remind me what they looked like, you know in centuries to come."

Sylar frowned at her sad tone. "I didn't mean to bring up bad thoughts."

Claire shook her head. "Guess I'm not really in the party mood tonight."

"Problems?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Nothing you'd be interested in."

"You might be surprised."

A smile teased at the edges of his mouth. He was interested in everything about her. He cared about ill fitting shoes and class assignments and the jerk who cut her up on the freeway. He cared about bad hair days and the last book she'd read and what made her want to scream. He cared about the minutia of her day in a way that no one ever had, or would. Hell, she could even talk about her period if she wanted. He just wanted her to talk to him.

"Is it your dad?"

Claire scoffed. "When isn't it? My father, the original company man. Making the world safe from us freaks."

"Is that what you were doing?" he asked quietly. "Protecting me from him." He knew that there was an edge to his voice that made her turn and stare at him

"What?"

"I don't need your pity Claire." Her attention, her affection and her love, but never her pity. "I can take care of myself."

"Without resorting to decapitation?"

"Almost five years clean," Sylar tried not to let her words sting. "One more month and I get a medal."

That made her smile and he felt a thrill of vindication. He had made her smile. Him.

"Yeah, Peter told me the other day you were gonna treat it as an anniversary."

"You were talking about me?"

It wasn't delight in his voice as much as trepidation. Exactly what had Peter told her about him? Had he blurted Sylar's little secret and the reason Claire was deigning to speak to him was out of a sense of pity? Why were they talking about him in the first place? Paranoia was a difficult habit to kick.

Claire frowned. "I guess. You live with Peter, you crop up in conversation."

Disappointment laced his next words.

"Of course. No other reason."

She stared straight at him. "What other reason would there be?"

Sylar wanted to challenge her, to ask her if she would ever see him as a man and not a monster but the words stuck and suddenly all he anted to do was make her smile, to knock that shadow off her shoulder. He mustered all of his considerable charm and shrugged.

"Oh, you were telling Peter how handsome, charming and devastatingly attractive I was and that you were secretly pining for me."

Claire raised an eyebrow, her grin as much disbelief as it was amused. "Really?"

Sylar gave her a sheepish look, but it was patently false. She was almost smiling at him and he felt like he could move mountains. "It's hard being this amazing."

"Not to mention modest."

Sylar could have cursed Peter. He really did have some shitty timing.

"Great party Uncle Peter," Sylar said with a roll of his eyes. "I particularly like the astral projection kid spying out the girls bathroom and the spirit medium doing the time warp."

"Oh god, really?" Claire let out a laugh.

"Even freaks gotta have fun, Syle, cut it loose." Peter beamed at him. "How about you go dance?"

Sylar sipped his beer. "You're not my type."

"Who is?" Peter smirked at his dark look, warning him not to say anything else.

"Isn't it obvious?"

Sylar spun to look at Claire, shock and dread swelling in his stomach.

She knew.

"What?"

"Hiro," Claire giggled, much more at ease now that she wasn't alone with him, "it's all that hero worship. 'Brain man, brain man'" she mimicked, "he totally adores you and you let him get away with it. Anyone else you would have sliced by now."

Peter laughed aloud at the horror and disgust on his face. "She has a point, Syle, you do let Hiro get away with a lot."

"You're also not dead yet," he pointed out through gritted teeth, " a fact that can be remedied at any time."

"Now don't be like that," Peter said, "not when I was going to ask you to be my best man."

For the first time in his life Sylar's brain went wonderfully, unnervingly, completely blank.

"Wha-"

Peter stepped closer. "Would you be my best man?"

"Are you insane?" Panic flooded him. "Me, best man?"

"Yeah."

"Peter, do you have any idea what people would say. What your mother would say? Do you even want these people turning up at your wedding? It's one thing to harbor a monster and give it a second chance, it's another to place him at your right hand on your wedding day!" Sylar did not realize how loud his voice had gotten until Claire shushed him.

Peter didn't care. "First up, don't call my best friend a monster, okay. Second, I don't care what these people say. It's my day, my special day and I'll have who I want by my side. It would have been Nathan."

"But I killed him," Sylar reminded him, for once not caring that Claire was stood by his side. This was too important for Peter to throw away. "I'm the reason he won't be there, Peter."

"And we've been through all that. I've forgiven you even if you haven't forgiven yourself. You are the reason I'm here, Sylar, and the reason Emma is alive. The reason we're all alive and not buried under Central Park. Over the past eight years, even if only three of them were real, you've become my best friend and I want you there with me. If anyone else has a problem, well then screw 'em."

Sylar recognized that tone and his shoulders stiffened. "You're not going to give in on this, are you?"

Peter grinned. "Not even a little bit."

Sylar watched him for a moment and marveled at the capacity for forgiveness that that this man showed.

"Then I accept. I'll be your best man."

Peter clapped him on the back in a half hug and Sylar shook his head. Mad.

"The four of us will have to meet up soon to talk weddings and things."

"The four of us?" Sylar frowned. "What kind of wedding things?"

"Dresses, cake," Peter shuddered. "Apparently getting the right kind of flowers is essential to wedded bliss."

Sylar blanched.

Ok, maybe this was Peter's odd form of revenge. Take a self proclaimed love-sick fool and force him to talk weddings.

"I think I'll just turn evil. Again." He said.

"Oh no, pal," Peter shook his head."You are as in this as me now. I'm counting on you to help me ward off the girlie bits."

"As a girl, hey!" Claire punched her uncle's arm. "It won't be that bad."

"Really?"

"It'll be much worse," she grinned evilly and Sylar was impressed. "We need in depth discussions on the right kind of fuchsia and whether you guys should wear cummerbunds."

"Cummerbunds?" Sylar shook his head. "Forget it."

"I don't even know what that is and I'm terrified." Peter said. "There is no way you're leaving me alone with Emma and Claire."

"Claire?"

"I'm the maid of honor," she said. "Emma asked me earlier." She paused. "Is that a problem."

A problem? Didn't the best man and the maid of honor have to organize things together and walk down the aisle ahead of the golden couple and dance together?

Problem?

Suddenly this wedding was the best thing that ever happened to him.

A slow smile slid over his features. "Problem? Not at all."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Two weeks earlier.

Claire stared at the computer screen with more than a little hatred. Outside the sun was shining and the birds were singing and she was desperate to feel the wind on her face. But if she didn't finish off this report her boss was going to yell at her. Again.

God, she hated her job.

Was this what a normal life was really all about? Four years at college, pulling all-nighters and downing coffee like it was going out of fashion and for what?

Some crappy little office job where your line manager tries to look up your skirt and the office gossip calls you frigid.

If this was what she and her father had been fighting for her entire life then she felt cheated. With one eye on the clock Claire finished typing her report, wishing she had Hiro Nakamura's power and could push that second hand just that little bit faster.

But no. Sadly she didn't have a power as cool as that. The best she could do was regrow an arm.

She brightened slightly.

Maybe that was it; she could cut off her arm and claim to have to spend the rest of the day in the emergency room. But then again there would be those awkward questions about how said limb regrew in hours. Claire sagged again. There had got to be more to it than this.

The phone trilled on her desk and with the attitude of one who had picked up the phone more than once only to be given more work, Claire picked up the receiver and winced.

"Claire Bennett."

"Wow, that didn't sound forced at all."

A genuine smile filled her face. "Peter!"

"Did I call at a bad time?"

"It's work," she said with a roll of her eyes, "when is it not a bad time."

"That doesn't sound promising. Surely it can't be all that dire?"

Claire tapped her fingers on the desk. "That depends; do thoughts of maiming yourself to get an afternoon off sound dire?"

She heard Peter's rich laugh down the phone and felt a thrill of pleasure that she could make him laugh. Since the whole deal with Samuel and the Carnival Peter had seemed to go into a slump, pushing himself to beyond breaking point to try and atone for some misdemeanor. But now he was getting better, he was laughing and smiling and joking and she hoped that she had a hand in it, even though she knew that it was probably more down to that quiet blonde with the Synethesia.

Well, her and _him._ Deliberately Claire pushed thoughts of the dark-haired enigma away and focused back on the conversation.

"-if that's a workable plan?"

Claire winced. "Sorry, Peter, I totally blacked out for a minute. What plan?"

"Am I boring you, Claire?" She could hear the amusement in his voice.

"No. Just feels like Monday, ya know?"

"Yeah. Anyway I was asking if you were available for dinner this evening."

"Why, Peter, I'm flattered but you're my uncle and that's just wrong, and of course there's Emma," she teased and could almost hear him blushing down the phone.

"Claire!"

She laughed out loud, startling the birds just outside the window. "Sure, let me check my diary. Uh, I have a date with a bowl of Ramen Noodles but I think I can postpone."

"Great. Me and Em will pick you up at six... what? Hold on, Claire." He said something to someone at the other end and Claire could almost hear the puzzlement in his voice, "-she doesn't need to know that? Does... okay." He came back on the line. "Uh, Emma said smart casual, no jeans, no dress. Does that make sense?"

"Yep," Claire beamed. "That's great, tell her thanks."

"I swear, a million years and I'll never get women."

"Hey!" Claire squawked indignantly and heard the sound of a slap from down the phone.

"Ow, don't worry, Emma represented the female population. She packs a mean punch for such a little thing. Okay, okay. I have to go, catch you later."

"Sure. Bye Peter."

She put the phone back in its cradle and smiled fondly at it. Now that was what she called real life. That was normal, two people falling in love and making a life for themselves, teasing and just living.

Family.

Her family.

She turned back to her computer with a bright smile.

She could tell it was something big as soon as they sat down in the restaurant. The way that Peter helped Emma to her chair and tucked her in; the way his hand lingered too long on the small of her back and the way their eyes couldn't seem to tear away from each other. They had been dating far too long for it to be simple hormones and Claire was oscillating between engagement and pregnancy. She surreptitiously glanced down at Emma's mid-section. But no, it was as flat as ever. She then checked out the ring finger and a broad smile swept over her face.

Emma caught her stare and laughed.

"Girl's know!"

"Know what?" Peter looked between them and sagged as he realized Claire had guessed their reason for inviting her out. "Well, there goes the surprise."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Claire was immediately contrite but delight was dancing in her eyes. "But this is awesome, congratulations you guys." She got up and came around the table to hug her uncle and his intended bride.

Emma squeezed her tight and Claire returned it, knowing full well that she was giving Peter to the best person possible. Emma was calm where Peter was volatile, serene where he was excitable and loving whenever he needed it. He seemed more relaxed just being around her and Claire could almost see the love between them.

She sat back down. "It's amazing... and about time, you've only known her for... three years?"

Peter laughed. "That's exactly what Sylar said when we told him. But he said eight years, I guess things get slightly messed up when you can time travel and spend years trapped inside someone's head."

"Don't think that means you can forget anniversaries," Emma signed quickly.

Peter bowed his head. The picture of the whipped man. "Yes, dear."

Claire grinned. "So have you told Angela yet?"

Peter grimaced at the thought. "No. Not yet. Mom is... we wanted to tell you and Sylar first and sort of work up to telling mom... on the day... after the ceremony."

Emma nodded fervently. "We were going to tell my mom and Angela Petrelli together, but my mom would want a say in it and Angela-" She shuddered and Claire felt her pain.

"Yeah, with the control freak that your mom is, no offense Peter-"

"None taken."

"-I can't see her not wanting to take over the reigns of the whole thing and making it into some sort of Circus. It might be better if you guys elope," she said only half teasing.

"But we've agreed on two things-" Peter started as the waiter came over to take their order.

He waited until the man went to fetch their drinks and continued. "They're both very important to us and we wanted to talk to you about them."

Claire frowned and shifted in her chair. "Sounds serious."

Peter nodded and she felt a stir of unease. What did they want most? A normal life away from the freak show that 'specials' brought with them. A day away from the chaos of abilities. What of they didn't even want her at the wedding?

She swallowed. "Yeah?"

Peter nudged Emma and she took a deep breath. "I don't have a sister and you've become very close to me, Claire. Would you be my maid of honor?"

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh my god, yes, of course!"

Peter held up a hand. "Wait, there's something you should know before you decide to agree."

"Oh, god, you're not gonna put me in peach are you?"

Peter opened and closed his mouth, wrong-footed. "Of all the things I was gonna say, that didn't even rank up there with them. Seriously, Claire!"

She giggled. "Sorry."

He shook his head and then paused. "Would that be a deal breaker? Peach?"

Both Claire and Emma nodded.

"Women, I don't get."

The two girls grinned at each other at his male incomprehension.

Claire sobered first. "So, what's the addendum?"

Peter looked at her seriously. "I'm going to ask Sylar to be my Best Man."

"Oh."

The reason for Peter's unease was obvious. Although Claire no longer wanted Sylar-Gabriel (or whatever he was calling himself now) dead and buried by her own hand she had never done anything to persuade them otherwise.

They took her avoidance and refusal to even mention him as evidence that she still felt the same way and she hadn't disabused them of that notion.

She didn't know why.

Peter lived with the guy, spent all of his time with him and was very evidently not dead. Peter had tried to wax rhapsodic about him straight after their little sojourn in Sylar's mind, but Claire had changed the subject, made her excuses and left. Peter had caught on quickly that Sylar was off limits and he limited himself to the occasional anecdote which featured Sylar in a positive light.

She knew that Peter had been trying to erode her hatred of Sylar one slice at a time but she wouldn't listen. The truth was that she had no idea how she felt about Sylar. She couldn't say that she no longer feared him, or wasn't waiting for the call to say he'd changed his mind (again) and had removed Peter's head. But at the same time she had faith in Peter and Peter trusted him implicitly. He even trusted him with Emma... and Claire.

But he made her uncomfortable and so she avoided him. His new personality was so at odds with the killer she had feared and the psycho who had obsessed over her.

At least he was over that.

She glanced up to see Peter and Emma watching her tensely. They probably expected her to turn the offer down, to cite myriad reasons why this wouldn't work, why she couldn't be alongside Sylar for any length of time.

And she wanted to. Wanted to be that selfish little cheerleader who pouted and screamed and whined until she got her own way. But the day she'd agreed that exposure was bad, the day she'd almost tipped herself off the Ferris wheel and changed history, had altered that little girl. Here her favorite uncle and his fiancee wanted her to be a part of their special day. Who was she to deny them that, and if it meant having to make nice with Sylar then that is what she'd do.

She took a deep breath. "I can do that. As long as I don't have to dance with the guy, I'm all set. It'd be my pleasure."

Emma beamed widely and Peter gave her a small smile, a little sad over her words but understanding nonetheless.

"Hey, you never know. You might find that you and Sylar have more things in common than you think."

A memory of a blackboard sent her palms tingling and she sat up straighter in her seat. "Let's not go nuts, Peter. Now, tell me all your plans for this thing."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

They were two of the hardiest men on the planet, both had been through indescribably pain and anguish. One had been torn to shreds by a nuclear explosion, and the other had his soul removed piece by piece. Between them they'd lost mothers, brothers, friends, their liberty, their freedom and their hearts. But they'd also found each other.

The two of them had been bonded by sheer force of will and they knew that if they stood side by side then nothing could ever hurt them.

Peter leaned over. "Please get me out of here."

Sylar's eyes scanned around them, his pulse quickening. He could see no escape, no way out. "I'm sorry, Peter."

Desperation filled Peter's soulful eyes. "This isn't happening. There has to be a way."

Sylar shook his head in defeat. He had looked, he had plotted and this time he had failed. They were trapped, with no way out.

"Oh, god," Peter sank low in his chair.

"I never knew you were such a drama Queen," Claire said with a laugh. "Who would have thought the mighty Peter Petrelli running scared looking at wedding dresses."

"This isn't wedding dresses," Peter said with a scowl. "Oh, no. Wedding dresses would be fine. This-" he swept his arm around gesturing to their surroundings, "this is a nightmare."

Claire followed his eyes.

"Ok, so maybe bringing you guys here wasn't the best plan ever."

And it hadn't been.

A Wedding Faire was not meant for mortal men, Peter thought. Oh, he and Sylar had managed to sit still for most of the dress parade and only showed signs of boredom towards the end (but, to be honest, by that point even Claire seemed to be losing the will to live). Peter knew she was only holding it together for Emma's sake.

Then they finally got to leave the auditorium only to be herded in with the crowd who were looking at the rest of the paraphernalia that came with a wedding.

Photography booths and honeymoon locations and tuxedo hire, themed wedding venues and cake exhibition, glass wear, registration, priest hire, venue books, it just went on and on and on.

Elopement was looking better and better.

The only thing that kept Peter from running for the hills was the smile on Emma's face and the fact that almost every other man in here sported the same look of horror and resignation.

Including Sylar and he wasn't even getting married.

But maybe that was it. Peter eyed him shrewdly. He knew that Sylar had hoped to use this time to get closer to Claire, to have her come to know him better, and maybe strike a friendship with him that could one day lead to something more.

But Claire had fixed herself to Emma's side, proving indispensable to the blonde but ever elusive to Sylar.

Whenever the four of them met to discuss anything, Claire stuck with Emma and Peter. She was never nasty, or even impolite towards him but she was cordial and succinct and that was it. She never went out of her way to talk to him and avoided being alone with him if she could help it and Peter knew that it was getting his friend down, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

He was starting to look like a puppy denied a treat and Peter almost felt guilty for his happiness when it seemed Sylar's was so far away.

He suddenly wanted to shake Claire and beg her to see what he saw. Beg her to just look at Sylar like a man and forget who he had been. He knew that if she could just see him, properly see him, then things would take care of themselves. There was no way she could help but fall for him.

Maybe Peter could help a little.

"I think Emma's looking for me. This would be a good time for you guys to scope out the bachelor party tent."

Claire blinked. "Me?" She chanced a look at Sylar. "I thought that was the best man's job?"

Sylar just waited, knowing that Peter would have a reason for what he said.

"The best man's job is to provide a bachelor party that the groom would kill for. The chief bridesmaid's job is to ensure it's nothing the bride would kill us for." He grinned. "Sylar knows me, you know Emma. I'm sure between you guys you can come up with something."

He patted Sylar once on the arm and headed off to find his fiancee amidst the fluff and frippery that came with weddings.

Emma was surrounded by pieces of paper. Hundreds of them in fans all over one of the tables. The colors spanned the spectrum from soft silver to the most eye-popping pink he had ever seen.

He tapped her shoulder and awaited until she turned to face him. "Not that one." he pointed and she gave him a harassed smile.

"Choices," she explained, her hands in a flurry. He caught her fingers and kissed the tip.

"Calm down." He waited until the panic had ebbed from her eyes. "Now, what exactly are these pieces of paper for?"

"Invitations," said a voice over Emma's shoulder. "They are one of the most important aspects. They set the tone for the whole wedding. It depends on theme, mood, guests, ambiance and personality. What is good for one couple isn't necessarily good for another. Is your wedding formal, casual, family only? Is it in a church, cathedral, civil ceremony? Do you require an insert with directions to the reception? All very important choices that need to be made."

Peter gaped at the effusive woman in the plain black trouser suit. Well, that explained Emma's panic. She probably hadn't understood half of what the woman was saying and assumed she was missing something important.

Peter felt a sudden pang of guilt at how annoyed he had been. Not only was Emma trying to pull together a wedding, she was at a crowded faire where she wouldn't be able to hear half of what was being said. No wonder she was on edge.

He stroked her shoulders and scanned the table. "That one there."

He turned her around and pointed at the one that had caught his eye.

It was one of those colors that seemed to change depending on the way the light hit it, if he shifted his stance it went from a cool iceberg blue to a glistening pink and then to a forest green.

Emma gave him a questioning look as she picked it up.

"When I saw you for the first time," he signed slowly, "you were playing the cello. In the park, remember?"

She nodded carefully.

"This was the color I saw all around you." He smiled gently and cupped her face. "You showing your soul to the world. It made everyone stop and stare in wonder and when I saw it, I knew that you were someone very special. This is the first time I saw _you_. Love at first sight, in these colors."

Emma melted and leaned up to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in her scent, calming himself. He couldn't believe he was so lucky as to have this.

She pulled away and he wiped the tears from her face. With a bright smile she turned back to the woman.

"This one."

The woman, who had seen myriads of debate and arguments and bored acquiescence from grooms for years, felt herself smile for the first time that day. Usually she could tell when a couple was in this for love and when it was half-hearted and she had seen more than her fair share of shot-gun, expanding waistline or rushed engagements. She could usually pinpoint how many years a couple was going to last... if that. But this one, all he could see was his bride and she knew that this was a marriage that would last.

She took a deep breath and broke her own rules. "All right, if you agree to buy today I'll even throw in free table placements and do order of service for 10% off."

She was rewarded by the young man's grin and the young lady's happy expression.

With Peter in tow, Emma felt much calmer.

Things hadn't been easy since they'd caved and sat down both mothers to tell them of the news.

"Wonderful!" Angela had trilled, "I know the best chef in the whole of New York and his shrimp a la mode is to die for. Xavier can do exquisite lobster gratin and caviar pleats that melt in your mouth. I'll call him now. What date are you planning on?"

Emma opened her mouth.

"Oh, a June wedding is a must," Louise Coolidge said, patting her daughter's hand. "All my side of the family were June brides and their marriages were a success."

"It'll be impossible to get the Plaza for this June," Angela said. "The Roosevelt has a great function room but the service is not what it was. Perhaps the Hilton?"

"Mom!" Peter gave an exasperate laugh. "We can't afford anything like that, okay?"

"Nonsense, dear," she said dismissively as she reached for her filofax, "every girl wants the best on her special day."

"She's right, honey," Louise agreed. "A girl only gets married once for the first time."

"But-"

Angela reached into her bag again. "Now you should choose four bridesmaids and no more, the symmetry of photographs depends on an even number of the wedding party. I'd suggest-"

Emma looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Hey!" Peter all but shouted and the two older woman stared at him. "Look, we appreciate the whole enthusiasm but we aren't a showcase. Okay, we don't want the Ritz or the Hilton. Or Chef Xavier and his amazing shrimp. We're gonna plan and pay for our own wedding, okay? It's our day."

Angela pursed her lips. "Peter-"

"No, mom. This is Emma's wedding. Not yours. Or yours Mrs Coolidge," he added carefully. "We'll make our own choices."

His determination hadn't gone down well but Emma had appreciated it nonetheless. Her mother and Angela Petrelli had left with poor grace. Angela even slipped a card into her fingers and told her to call 'when' things got out of hand or if she needed some advice.

Wandering down these aisles and staring at the huge array of choice, Emma had wondered whether she would be better to do just that. She couldn't even decide on an invitation color, how was she expected to do everything else?

But the Peter had arrived and made it all better. Like always.

She held his hand tightly as they moved away from the invitation table. "Thank you," she said.

Peter gave her his lopsided grin that never failed to make her quiver inside. "That's what married couples do, right. They help each other with hard decisions."

"I was starting to think about calling your mother," she admitted sheepishly and he shuddered.

"Looks like I was just in time. Besides I'm sure Claire would have helped if you'd asked." He stopped walking and pulled her to face him. "You're not alone any more, Emma. I know you got used to shutting people out and cutting yourself off. Trying to do everything on your own to prove that you could, that you weren't any less without your hearing. But we're here now. We have each other. You have me and Claire and your mom, and yeah, even my mom if you want. No one will think any less of you if you admit you need help."

She nodded wryly and poked him. "You too."

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah, it's a lesson I've needed to learn too. With Nathan gone I thought I had to shoulder it all alone. But now I have you and Sylar and..." he sighed. "We're so lucky to have so many people willing to help. We just need to have the faith in ourselves that they have in us." He winced at her smirk. "Okay, lecture over. So what next? Flowers? Pictures? A tattoo for each guest?"

She shook her head and then frowned. "Where are Claire and Sylar?"

His half-guilty, half-smug look made her roll her eyes. "Oh, Peter what did you do?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"I'm sure between you guys you can come up with something." Peter said and then turned on his heel and walked away to find his fiancee.

Claire stared at his retreating back with her mouth open. He'd left her. That sneaky, foppy haired, sponge-soaking, ability snatcher had left her alone with Sylar!

He knew that Claire had issues with the man. He knew that the very idea of being trapped alone with him had the ability to make her stomach rebel. He knew that she would rather have root canal than be alone with Sylar and what had her dear, sweet, caring Uncle gone and done? He'd left her alone.

With Sylar!

She gritted her teeth and wished that she had a more active power, one where she could incinerate her feckless relative with just her eyes. Just because he was all tight and chummy with the serial killer now didn't mean that she was just fine with the guy who chopped off her skull and rooted around in her brain.

Just because he sang Sylar's praises at every turn didn't mean that she had forgotten that Sylar killed her bio-mom and bio-dad or that he had terrorized her for years, featuring in every single one of her nightmares.

She may not want him dead and buried but that didn't mean that she wanted to spend time with the man... who was currently watching her have a mental breakdown.

Claire took a deep breath and turned to face him with a forced calmness.

Sylar was watching her with a hesitant look on his face.

"Okay?"

No.

"Of course," she plastered a smile to her face. "Shall we?"

Sylar nodded and led the way to the section he and Peter had spotted earlier. It was hard to miss the huge sign proclaiming 'Boys night out: perfect bachelor party locations' in bright neon green arched across a couple of support beams. More than a few men had escaped there briefly before their future wives appeared to drag them back into the faire thus ensuring that they started their married lives the way it would go on; being dragged, kicking and screaming- or at least protesting and pouting- away from temptation.

The corner itself was opened into a large room where tall boards separated each possible destination. The boards featured a large poster of the destination- usually a bright beach full of half-naked women or a nightclub full of half-naked women; a list of possible activities- usually topped by drinking and a list of local spots of interest- usually bars and strip clubs.

"I'm beginning to see a theme," Claire noted absently as they passed the Las Vegas board proclaiming that the Sapphire Gentleman's Lounge was the biggest strip club in the world, where the drinking laws were lax and the women were cheap.

"And that theme is somewhat sordid," Sylar said in distaste.

"Hey yo!" A tall slim man in tight jeans and a turtle-neck top in a deep brown color called them over. "So, are you the doomed man?" He joked.

"No."

Claire was surprised at Sylar's short answer and he must have taken her expression in and realized her was being rude because he softened slightly. "No, I'm the best man."

The man, whose name tag proclaimed him 'Geoff', looked at Claire with a question. "And you're the..."

"Chief bridesmaid."

Geoff glanced between the two of them and smiled conspiratorially at Sylar, man to man. "So, lemme guess, you're sent here by him, she's sent here by her, right?"

His man to man smile failed epically.

"Actually _he_," Sylar emphasized, "sent us both. He doesn't want to do anything to offend his fiancee," his eyes flicked over the board. "Which would seem to include most of these activities."

The tone of his voice let Geoff know exactly what he thought of these activities.

Geoff's smile faded a little. "Okay, well does your girlfriend have any ideas of what the bride would deem appropriate?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," Claire said automatically and Sylar stiffened imperceptibly.

"Really?" Geoff ran his eyes appreciatively over Claire.

"But he still has more chance than you at my being it," she continued with saccharine sweetness.

Sylar bit off a laugh and tried to turn it into a cough as Geoff frowned, his happy one-of-the-boys demeanor faded into peevishness.

"No need to be like that, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart."

There was something about her tone of voice that warned his she meant business and, even if he had been stupid enough to miss that, then the aura of extreme danger ebbing from the dark-haired best man would have done the job.

Geoff tried to make the best of it. "We cater for all kinds of bachelor parties. From the standard boys night out at a club- dance club," he hastened to add, "to the more exotic bachelor weekend in Amsterdam, we can pretty much cover all markets. If your friend is less of the boobs, beers and black-outs we can offer alternatives."

Claire glanced over the board. Despite what Geoff was saying all of his alternatives seemed to be a variation on the theme. Beaches- with girls; casino's- with floor shows containing girls; Amsterdam- with girls and drugs.

She looked at Sylar who seemed to be coming to a similar conclusion.

"I don't think you can help us," she said and turned to leave.

Geoff sense potential money disappearing. "How about a trip to Montreal? That's a very popular choice."

It was also a very bad choice, considering that Montreal was where Peter 'lost' Caitlin; a girl he'd fallen in love with in Cork, Ireland. It wasn't exactly the right kind of memory-lane for a bachelor party.

"No." Sylar shook his head and followed Claire leaving Geoff half relieved and half disappointed.

They walked in near silence past more of the same, guys with loud voices and even louder clothes proclaiming to have the best possible location for the weekend of debauchery.

Claire shuddered as one picture showed a well-developed woman dressed in nothing but leather and not much of that. "Do men really like these kinds of things?"

"Desperate men," He offered, sticking his hands in his pockets. "But not Peter. None of this would appeal to him."

Claire shook her head. "No, I couldn't see him at a strip-club." She gave a fake shudder. "Okay, now I can and need bleach. There are certain things you don't want to see your relatives doing, or even imagine doing."

"No," he said absently.

Claire peered at him. He'd gone progressively quieter and more introspective the more they looked and his brooding face was started to remind her eerily of pre-slicing Sylar. It was unnerving to say the least.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said moodily.

"Nothing what?"

"Nothing you'd want to hear."

"That's never stopped you before," she muttered and then took a deep breath. Obviously there was something bugging him and she had a feeling it was going to get progressively worse unless she did something about it.

Claire walked around and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips. "That is not a 'nothing' face, Sylar. That is a 'something' face and you're gonna tell me what's wrong."

He glowered at her and Claire scoffed..

"You think a pout and a glare is gonna scare me? You've had your fingers in my brain, Sylar. I'm not gonna take 'nothing' as an answer."

He gaped at her and she couldn't help but feel somewhat vindicated that she'd stood up to him.

"Now spill."

And he did.

"It's just," he raked a hand through his hair. "None of this is Peter." The words seemed to tear something inside and he exploded. "Peter has done so much for me, he's been there for me like no one ever has. He's my brother in everything but name and I want to give him the best party ever. But I don't like people and he doesn't like strippers and none of this is helping! It's all wrong!"

Sparks crackled from his fingers and Claire glanced down with alarm at the blue electricity that danced across his palms.

"Okay, okay, calm down," she said. "We'll figure something out."

But he wasn't listening, instead she could see his glance flitting around at the boards and his temper spiraling. Her heart started to thunder as nuances of old Sylar crept in and the menace that surrounded him deepened.

Before fear could send her running away, she threw caution to the wind and reached for his hand.

The sparks jolted her as they sent shocks racing through her arms but it was more the feel of her skin on his that surprised him out of his free-fall.

He stared down in wonder at her small hand covering his and glanced up into her soft eyes.

* * *

* * *

"Hey," she soothed. "It's okay. I know you want this to be good for Peter. We will figure something out. Let's just," she took a deep breath. "Let's get out of here, okay?" 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Hey," Claire soothed as electricity crackled between his hands. "It's okay. I know you want this to be good for Peter. We will figure something out. Let's just," she took a deep breath. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

He nodded and allowed her to lead him out of the hormonal section of the faire and back into normality- if normality was two people arguing loudly about table drapes.

But he felt much better. As soon as they were away from the garish posters Sylar felt a rush of shame for almost losing it like that. He usually kept a tight reign on his powers and it distressed him no end when they fired off for no reason. All the more so because he had done it in front of Claire; the one woman he wanted to impress and have her believe that he'd changed.

_Well, way to go there, dumbass_, he thought, _nothing says 'normal' than almost frying a bachelor party representative. No matter how annoying he was. _

But, even though she'd had every reason (and more reason than most) to run. She hadn't. She'd stayed and tried to calm him down.

He looked down at his hand

She'd touched him.

Claire had willingly touched him. His heart leaped a little and he knew a goofy smile was trying to find his face. Her little hand had willing laid across his and he could almost feel her phantom fingers still there, the sensation was intoxicating.

_Thank you, Peter._

He'd known that Peter was trying to help him out when he'd sent them off together; it was his less than subtle way of interfering, and Sylar could have kissed his friend as he watched him walk away.

Then he'd seen the sheer panic in Claire's face, swiftly followed by fury. He was suddenly very pleased that she had such a passive power else something very bad could have happened to Peter then. She'd turned to him and Sylar could have told her he could deal with it by himself and allowed her to go off on her own. But he was too selfish for that, he wanted her to spend time with him and he was going to use every advantage that he could possibly get.

But the enjoyment of her company was dulled by the overwhelming sense of failure that loomed. _This isn't what Peter would want, _his brain yelled. _This isn't anything Peter would enjoy._

But wasn't that what a bachelor party was? Men acting like idiots and doing things that they would deeply regret.

Didn't they already have enough regrets?

His hands itched and he was torn with an overwhelming urge to let loose his temper on the unsuspecting public.

Only the small woman in front of him held his temper in check.

Claire had led them to a small area which boasted tables and chairs designed for relaxation and regrouping. Each table held a pot of pens and a pad full of paper so that the wedding party could brainstorm and make notes on what they had seen.

She grabbed a pen and for a scary moment, Sylar felt his eye twitch. Claire allowed a small smile to play around her mouth and he knew that she'd seen his involuntary action.

Still, it was better than her running away in fear, which he'd assumed would be her reaction to his little outburst.

But Claire Bennett was made of sterner stuff and she had taken the bull by the horns, as it were.

"Sorry about that," he muttered.

She looked up. "What?"

"The-" he waved his hands indicating the electrical energy he'd gotten from Elle. "When I get stressed I tend to lose control a little."

She nodded slowly and bit down on her lip.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," she refuted quickly, her eyes intent on the paper in front of her.

Sylar longed for her to look up and smile at him. Just at him. He might as well long for the moon.

"Okay," Claire took a deep breath. "So none of that was any good as a bachelor party for Peter. So we need to think outside the box."

"Right." He nodded and focused on the blonde. She was cute when she was being determined.

He groaned inwardly. Cute? He was turning into such a sap. The next thing you knew he'd be writing bad poetry and serenading her outside her window.

Her brow wrinkled. "Let's start with numbers. Who are you inviting to this thing?"

"Peter, obviously, me, uh... Edgar, Mohinder, Ando and Hiro. Eli, Matt, Rene, Chris, the fire-breather, Ian and maybe Sean the chameleon kid."

Claire blinked. "Isn't he blue?"

Sylar shrugged. "Sometimes."

"So, twelve of you."

"If Matt, Mohinder and Rene can make it. Matty's just started school, Mohinder's Shanti is teething and Rene could be anywhere."

Claire cocked her head. "How did you know that?"

"What?"

She motioned with her pen. "About all of them. Their lives, their kids."

His face darkened as he heard her incredulous tone. Did she think that he should be alone forever; that no one would ever see any good in him? His voice was harsh. "Believe it or not, Claire. I do have some friends. Some people have forgiven me."

She blanched. "I meant keeping up with people's lives. I forget what Lyle's doing and he's my brother."

"Oh." His face reddened. Once again he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion and made an idiot of himself. "Right."

The awkwardness grew for a moment.

"Mohinder keeps me updated because of my work with Emma and Peter. He's available if any of the potentials want to talk about genetics or the biological side of their powers. One couple weren't sure whether to have kids because they didn't want to pass the mom's ability on. We called Mohinder in and he spoke with them, put their mind at rest."

Claire looked intrigued. "Did they have the baby?"

He nodded and blushed a little. Claire stared at him in fascination.

"What?"

He groaned and fought the redness that spread all over his face. But he knew that she wouldn't back down. "It was a baby girl, they called her Gabrielle."

"They named their kid after you?"

Sylar decided that the three-parts impressed, two-parts disbelief expression on her face wasn't completely insulting and he smiled. "She's a cute little thing. If a little loud." he cocked his head. "Maybe she'll have that sonic sound power; it would explain all the screaming."

Claire shook her head. "All kids scream. I babysat this one brat called Sophie who never stopped. I mean, seriously. The second her mom left to the second she got back, just one long wail. Drove me nuts!"

He gave her a curious look. "I can't imagine you ever babysitting."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Dad thought it'd be character-building to have a job."

There was something that she wasn't saying and he decided to press. "So, how long did this job last?"

"About a half-hour," It was Claire's turn to blush. "Sophie was my first and last job, okay?"

He laughed and she shrugged sheepishly.

"I wasn't very good with kids then." She defended. "I got better."

"I'm sure you did." And he could just see her with kids. Her own. Their own. Claire holding a tiny little girl with big blue eyes and tousled dark brown hair. The girl dropping Claire's hand to run over to him and wrap her tiny arms around his knees and Claire giving him _that_ smile. Family. Love.

For a moment the longing for that hit him so hard it overrode the Hunger, it was so real, so needed that he could taste it. He ached for it and had to close his eyes as he forced himself to accept that it wasn't real.

Could possibly never be real.

His heart broke just a little.

"Hey," Claire waved her hand in front of him. "You okay?"

He nodded once, his throat tight and he motioned to her list. "Between nine and twelve of us."

She watched him carefully for a moment and didn't say anything. But this time he wasn't going to cave. That was one fantasy that was going to stay his.

Eventually she let it go and tapped the paper with the pencil. "So, we know strippers and drugs are out. What other ways do we have fun? What does Peter consider having fun?"

Sylar licked his lower lip thoughtfully. "Saving people."

"Right, so we threaten New York for his bachelor party? Plant a bomb that he has to diffuse." The humor in her voice did delightful things to his insides and he relaxed.

"Sure. I can't see any place where that would go wrong," he said.

"It'd a be a fake bomb. You could do like a treasure hunt for him which ends at a proper heroes banquet. It'd be fun- ooh," she almost bounced in her seat at the idea. "You could make him dress up as a super-hero. In tights."

"Should I be worried about you?"

"Oh come on, it would be a party to remember," she cajoled.

He inclined his head. "That it would and we'd have to ensure Rene was there to wipe our memories of Matt Parkman with his underpants outside his clothes."

Claire paled. "Good point."

"But I liked the idea," he leaned forward. "Come on."

"Well since you guys can fly and Hiro can time jump, you could take everyone on a history trek. That's be interesting. Meeting key figures in history... and being very careful not screw up the past."

"Hmm," Sylar thought for a moment. "No, Peter is too noble to let something go, even when he knows it's for the best. I can imagine him and Hiro trying to save lives."

"Abducting people before they could board the Titanic?"

He grinned slyly. "Stand on the grassy knoll and yell 'duck'."

Claire burst out laughing and he stared at her in surprise.

She was laughing. She was actually laughing at something he said. In his company. Claire Bennett was laughing.

And she was beautiful. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed and he had never wanted to kiss someone so much in his life. But under that was the overriding joy that she had allowed herself to relax enough to laugh.

Sylar vowed then and there that this would be the most awesome bachelor party ever because he owed Peter for the best moment of his life so far. Second best if you counted that kiss- even if it wasn't completely consensual.

"Oh, god I could just imagine that," she said, still giggling. "JFK's team swarming to pick Peter and Hiro up only to have them disappear. It'd sent the conspiracy theorists nuts!"

"Puts the moon landing in perspective," Sylar agreed.

"There you are," Claire said, merriment all over her face. "Get Edgar to steal some space suits and get Hiro to take you to the moon. Zero Gravity. Best party ever! No one would ever top that."

Sylar rolled his eyes but was struck by a thought. "I wonder what Hiro's range is?"

"Mars party?"

"How about we stick to this planet?"

"All right," she pointed at him, "but I still think you're missing out on huge bragging rights."

"Any ideas that won't get us dissected by little green men?"

"Grey."

He blinked. "What?"

"Grey men, not green. Due the depletion of liver in the Reticulan galaxy." She waited a beat before grinning broadly. "Me and Lyle used to stay up late watching the X-files. I swear I had the first three seasons memorized."

He shook his head. "And just when I think I know everything about you, you surprise me again."

"You don't know everything about me." Her tone was cool and he was brought back to earth with a bump.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter

Claire's smile faded as the words came out more harshly than she'd intended. The look on his face showed that he hadn't meant to bring up bad memories but he had. Memories of everyone saying that they knew her; that they knew what was best. Memories of everyone telling her who she should be and not who she was, assuming that they knew who Claire Bennett really was.

But they didn't. None of them did.

Except maybe Sylar. He knew her secrets; he'd played at being Gretchen for long enough to find out some of her true feelings- things she'd never told anyone. He'd known of her foray into lesbianism and what a disaster that had been. He knew of her dark moments, her weak moments, those precious moments when she'd gone as far as she could go and was within inches of giving in. He knew that she held darkness inside and what she was capable of probably better than anyone. He knew her because he knew himself- the longing to be acknowledged 'special' even as they wished for a normal life. The feelings of abandonment and wishing to know who your parents were. The loneliness of potential immortality. He knew it all and if he were anyone else that would be enough for them to be friends.

But Sylar was that man.

The man who tied her down and messed with her head and killed her family and did so many things that she couldn't even begin to count the therapy she'd need to deal with them. And yet, for a moment she'd forgotten all of that.

She'd been actually having fun with Sylar. He had a sense of humor that was bordering on the surreal; like hers. He wasn't exactly hard to look at and that shy grin he gave was bordering on cute. She'd forgotten that he was a killer and had just focused on the man. The man who wanted to give his best friend the party he'd dreamed of.

For a moment Sylar had been normal. Just a guy. A nice guy.

She'd _liked_ him.

Actually _liked_ him.

And what did that say about him? About her?

For so long Claire had been focused on ignoring him, she had put him firmly in the category of 'evil: avoid' and had left him there in that box to rot, despite what Peter and Emma and everyone had told her. But what had he done that her father hadn't?

He'd killed people for their powers. Noah had killed people because of their powers He had taken off the top of their heads and messed with their brains. Daddy dearest had taken their freedom and messed with their memories.. Sylar had killed Nathan and Meredith. Noah had threatened Gretchen and almost destroyed Sandra by taking her memories. Dad had lied to her every day for most of her life. Sylar had never lied to her- ever.

Yet Sylar was branded evil and she was slowly forgiving her father, just because he was her father. She'd forgiven Mohinder even though he'd shot and killed her dad, just because her dad came back to life. She'd forgiven Peter even though he'd shot and killed Nathan in the future. She'd even forgiven Doyle for making her into a puppet.

Why was Sylar any different?

She looked across the table to where Sylar sat, dejected and despondent at her snappish behavior and wondered when she'd become such a hypocrite.

Maybe it was time to start rebuilding those bridges he'd talked about.

She took a deep breath and laid the first stone. "Sorry. Sore subject. I got fed up of everyone saying 'I know you, Claire, you won't do this.' It gets kinda grating when everyone thinks they know all about you. A girl likes to have some mystery, ya know."

He just blinked at her.

"Hello?"

"Did you just... apologize... to _me_?"

She felt a smile coming at the sheer incredulity on his voice. "Yeah, I guess I did."

He shook his head in disbelief. "For what I put you through, yelling is the least of what I deserve."

"Urgh!" she rolled her eyes. "No more self-recriminations, okay? I was actually having a blast with 'funny' Sylar."

His jaw actually dropped. "Wha-?"

"You know you're actually not that bad when you drop the chip on your shoulder... and of course you're not licking brain matter."

"I never- eww, Claire, that is disgusting." But his words were more full of wonder than disgust and Claire felt better than she had in a long time. It was good to let go of hate and prejudices and just be herself.

"Leaving aside homicidal and culinary fetishes for a moment, we should probably get back to Peter's party."

He nodded once but couldn't seem to stop staring at her in disbelief and delight.

"Poker!" she exclaimed and he jumped.

"What?"

"You could have a big poker night, invite all the guys and do a tournament."

Sylar shook his head. "Peter has an awful poker face, he can't lie... and Parkman can read minds- it wouldn't exactly be a fair game. Then there's the fact that Ando always makes Hiro cheat at cards by freezing time and checking out the other players cards."

Claire's jaw dropped. "I knew it!"

He grinned at her indignation. "How much did you lose?"

"Couple weeks laundry. I had to take my stuff home to mom." She frowned heavily. "I'm so gonna get him back, that stinking cheat."

Sylar leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "It took me a while before I cottoned on to it too."

She smiled. This was nice. She was having a conversation with him. She could do this, it wasn't so hard as long as she didn't over think it. She wracked her brain to think of other things.

"How about camping? The great outdoors. You guys could set up somewhere and have a couple of days roughing it. Manly bonding experience."

Sylar considered that for a moment. "It's a possibility."

"Beach, mountains or forest. I mean with you guys along you could do one of each. Go hiking and other awesome camping stuff."

"Like what?"

The curiosity in his voice made Claire frown. "Haven't you ever been camping before?"

"No."

She gaped. "Not ever?"

Sylar sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "My mother didn't like the outdoors. We never really went on vacation."

Claire's eyes softened. "That sucks, some of my best memories were going camping with my dad. Him teaching us how to set snares and fish and put up a tent."

"Wouldn't know how to do that," Sylar admitted. "I could probably learn for Peter," he frowned suddenly. "I don't know if Peter's ever been camping. I can't imagine Angela being one for roughing it."

"Well, Edgar and Eli would know- I think," Claire winced at the thought of twelve men not knowing how to build a tent. "Okay, maybe we put that one on the back-burner for a moment as a possibility. What else does Peter like?"

"Emma." Sylar groaned and rubbed his face. "This is impossible."

Claire cocked her head, deep in thought.

"What?"

"I had this one friend in college who was getting married and he said that he didn't want the usual bachelor stuff, what he wanted was to go paint-balling... with his fiancee. Why not surprise Peter- and Emma by combining bachelor and bachelorette parties?"

A slow smile made its way across his face. "I like that... I think Peter would like that."

Claire bit her lip. "Just one problem."

"What?"

"Well, what I'd got planned for Emma wouldn't work for you guys."

"Why not?" he paled. "It's not a spa thing or manicures is it?"

Then Claire did something that blew both their minds.

Without thinking she reached across the table and grabbed his hand, looking at his short smart nails. "Huh, like you couldn't do with having a full mani and pedi yourself mister, although your hands are quite soft for a-"

She looked up into his eyes and her breath caught in her throat. She'd pulled him across the table in her move and he was close- much closer than he'd ever been to her without one of his 'plans' to screw her up or screw her over. He was so close that she could see the green flecks in his eyes and the emotion that swelled there.

She dropped his hand and sat back quickly. "Sorry."

He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing.

Claire took a deep breath. And then other, feeling like he'd just zapped her with a thousand volts.

That was unexpected. She'd touched him before to calm him down and she'd attributed the nerves as a residual effect of fear. She was scared of Sylar. But this time fear had nothing to do with it. She was smiling, she was having fun and it had been natural to touch him.

That spark, that emotion in his eyes- that wasn't fear, it wasn't even electricity- at least not the special abilities type. That had been good old fashioned lust and that was just wrong.

It was only moments ago that she'd decided to try talking to him and treating him like a man.

How could she go from that to _that_ in minutes? It wasn't possible. Okay, so she'd always thought that Sylar was attractive in a scary psycho way; but there was no way that she would ever have feelings like that for him. No way at all. Ever.

That being the case, Claire decided to do what she did best. Ignore it.

"So I'd booked for me and Emma and a couple of us girls to go an amusement park. Emma told me that she'd loved the lights and Sullivan's Carnival and had always wanted to do the whole wild rides deal," she babbled, avoiding his eyes. "I was gonna take her to that huge theme park over by the Lake. But that wouldn't work for you guys."

"W-why not?" he asked hoarsely.

Claire gathered her courage and looked up, hiding her shaking hands under the table. "Please, Sylar. You and Peter can fly- what's the thrill of a roller-coaster when you can loop the loop around an airplane? What's the point of a Ferris wheel when you can land on top of the Hollywood sign? Matt would read the mind of the 'guess how many' dude, what fun is that? Mohinder has super-strength so why would he want to knock some hoops off a duck to win a stuffed toy? Plus Edgar and Eli worked in a carnival, it's not like they'd enjoy it."

"I think you're wrong," he said softly. "I think Peter would love the Ferris wheel if he got to sit with Emma at the top. I think Matt would like to play the guess my age game if he could win a toy for Matty and Mohinder might like to show off for Mira. A fair would be a wonderful idea, it all depends on the company. Who you're holding onto when you go into the haunted house, who you're screaming next to on the roller-coaster." His voice was low and thrummed through her. "It's the company that makes the date."

She had a feeling he wasn't just talking about Peter and Emma.


	8. Chapter 8

Sylar knew that he shouldn't push, but he could help himself. Claire had been willing to help him, had been willing to sit and talk and laugh and joke with him and suddenly something had changed.

It was like one of her walls fell down and she looked at him and, for the first time, really saw him.

She'd teased him about his self-recriminations and he had been riding high. It better than flying, better than acquiring a new power and it was all down to the blonde across the table.

Then she'd touched him.

No.

She'd grabbed his hand and held it in her own. A million nerve endings fired into life and it was like Dale Smither's power all over again; he could feel every single inch of Claire's skin against his. He could feel the tiny nuances and contours of her fingers, he felt like he could even sense the pattern of her fingertips- her fingerprints as individual as she was. Her hand was soft against his own and felt right, somehow, sliding against his palm. The sensation was only dwarfed only by the certain knowledge that she felt something too.

When she'd looked up Sylar had seen something reflected in her eyes.

Maybe it wasn't the deep love that he held for her but it was something.

Claire _felt_ something towards him and he didn't think it was hate, or fear. For that alone he could take on the world.

But then she'd shut it down and he could see her trying to dismiss it, turning it off and he'd frantically tried to grasp at it again- like a starving man seeing a mirage dance away in the shimmering light.

He tried to capture it with soft words. "It's the company that makes the date."

She blinked once and seemed to shake off whatever was in her head. She smiled. "So you think Peter and Emma would like a joint bachelor party at a theme park?"

That was it.

Whatever he had seen was gone and Claire had retreated to her friendly bantering tone. It was more than he deserved, he knew. More than he had ever expected, but to have been so close and yet to be so very far was enough to make his heart literally ache.

But he knew that if he pushed now, he would lose any headway that he might have made with Claire today. She was prepared to give him a shot at being her friend, that had to be enough.

For now.

He smiled at her. "I think it's a brilliant idea, Claire. I'll check with Eli and Edgar to make sure they don't have a problem with it but I think you've hit on the right idea."

She pursed her lips, looking very kissable. "We'll have to coordinate on dates and times to get them together and swear everyone to secrecy but I think it could be a blast."

He bit his lip. "Provided we keep you away from the Ferris wheel."

Claire gaped and he wondered if he had gone too far with his teasing.

"I'm sor-"

"Psych!" she swatted his arm. "That was mean, Sylar. You just wait. Hell hath no fury like an ex-cheerleader scorned."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ready. Okay." He mocked. "What are you gonna do, shake your pom-poms at me?"

"No," she beamed sadistically. "I'm gonna go tell Emma that you want to help her choose table flowers and you think pink waistcoats and top-hats are a great idea."

He paled. "You wouldn't."

She got to her feet. "Just watch me."

Well, since she gave her permission. He stared at her curvaceous form as she sashayed off before her words caught up with his hind brain and he lurched to his feet.

"Claire!"

Peter wondered if this was some sort of test. Because if it was, he was going to fail quite badly. He swallowed hard and looked between the two choices.

"Uhh... the blue one?" he said hesitantly and Emma beamed.

"Me too."

She turned away and started haggling with the delighted saleslady and Peter waited until her attention was elsewhere before he sagged in sheer relief and rubbed his face.

To be honest he couldn't have told you the difference between the two things if his life depended on it, but then he also couldn't have identified exactly what they were if he had been tied up and tortured. Only that they were small, papery and possibly essential to the happiness of his bride-to-be.

Maybe they were napkins. He picked one up and held it closer, hoping that there were some identifying marks.

"You know, I hear if you wipe your nose on it, you've bought it."

Peter ignored Sylar's sarcasm and leaned his head closer. "Any idea what 'it' actually is?"

Nimble fingers took it from him and examined it quickly. "Coaster."

"Really?" Peter frowned. "I thought we'd already done coasters?"

"Then maybe it's a really tiny hat."

Peter turned to face his friend and was pleased to see a huge grin on his face. "You're in a good mood."

Sylar nodded to where Claire had joined Emma and was currently exclaiming over her sample choices.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I take it, things went well."

Sylar lowered his voice. "You, my dear friend are made out of the shiny things that gods used to eat."

"Apples?"

"Manna, ambrosia. Figs."

"So basically, I'm squishy fruit?"

Sylar eyed him. "Food of the gods."

"Oh, that makes it all better."

Sylar rolled his eyes at Peter's lack of understanding. "Fine. You're made of awesomeness. Better?"

Peter considered that for a moment. "That depends," he looked around, "are you hitting on me? Ow!" He rubbed his arm. "That hurt."

"I'm sorry," Sylar said sarcastically. "I shouldn't bruise the fruit."

Despite the ache in his arm Peter was grinning at his friend. Sylar looked like he'd lost ten years, his eyes were bright, his smile was ready and he looked lighter than ever.

"So," he prompted, "things went well?"

Sylar glanced at Claire and Emma and then took Peter's arm, drawing him slightly away.

"Really well. She touched me."

Peter's eyebrows shot up and he grabbed Sylar's shirt. "Dude, she's my-"

"On the hand," Sylar responded witheringly. Peter dropped his hands.

"Oh."

"Idiot." Sylar said affectionately. "She willingly made contact with me and didn't run off screaming."

"Good?"

Sylar felt frustrated at Peter's lack of understanding.

"You don't get it." Sylar ran his fingers through his hair. "Claire once said that she'd rather die than touch me. This is a huge step. She wasn't scared of me or trying to kill me. It was an affectionate touch."

Peter saw the sheer joy in Sylar's face and beamed. "See, I knew all it would take was a little alone time. How awesome am I?"

"You're the best friend ever," Sylar offered and Peter nodded smugly.

"I know."

"You've also agreed to wear a pink top-hat."

"What?" Peter squeaked and Sylar grinned.

"Just kidding."

"About what?" Claire perked up behind them.

Peter shook his head. "Sylar was just telling me that I'd agreed to wear a pink top-hat."

"Oh, I never said, Peter had to wear one," Claire said with a mischievous grin. "Just you. Which reminds me. Hey, Emma." She tapped the woman's shoulder. "Did you know Sylar likes flowers?"

Emma's expression was dubious. "Really?"

"Uh huh," Claire nodded even as Sylar's jaw tightened. "He was saying to me that he wants to help pick the ones for the table."

Emma turned to Sylar, delight on her face. "Really?"

"Well, I...uh. I .."

"Don't be shy," Claire said with obvious enjoyment at his suffering. "You know you want to."

"Yeah, Sye. You were always interested in flower arranging." Peter offered, a broad beaming grin plastered to his face.

"Judas," Sylar muttered as Emma beamed and linked her arm with his.

"Don't worry," Emma said, "I can tell when Peter is lying. Besides, Claire already helped me pick those."

He growled at Claire who just giggled.

"Serves you right," she taunted and laughed at his expression.

He couldn't have been happier.

That night the two men collapsed onto the sofa and cracked a beer.

Peter leaned his head against the back of the leather couch and sighed loudly. "I am so glad that I love Emma and we'll be together forever."

Sylar raised an eyebrow at the sentimentality. "Yeah?"

"God yeah, can you imagine having to go through this again? Dude, I am only ever getting married once. If I ever get the insane urge to leave her, can you remind me about wedding fairs?"

Sylar was quiet for a moment. "It wasn't so bad."

Peter cracked up. "You should see your face, Sye."

But Sylar could imagine the shit-eating grin that was currently making his face ache. He was deliriously happy and could have floated home without even noticing.

"So, gonna tell me what happened today?" Peter asked.

"I nearly electrocuted a bachelor part salesman called Geoff."

Peter took a slow sip of beer. "I can see how that would make you smile."

Sylar waved his hand and a cushion hit Peter in the face. "No. I lost my temper."

"Ah." Peter wisely said nothing, knowing that Sylar would come to the point eventually.

Sylar laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Elle's power was coming out strong and I couldn't control it. I wasn't sure I wanted to. For a minute there all I wanted to do was raze the place to the ground with everyone in it. I was trying to calm down, take deep breaths but it wasn't working. I was going to kill someone."

"But you didn't." Peter pointed out. "So kudos there."

Sylar snorted. "Only because I was so shocked that Claire voluntarily made contact with me that the very fact that I had power slipped my mind."

Peter winced. "See, again. Claire and contact. I'm her uncle, those words do not make me go to a happy place."

"They do me," Sylar grinned.

Peter eyed the happy expression on his face and leaned in a little. "Naked Noah."

The expression was wiped as if it had never been there. "Eww, Peter!" Sylar reached over and smacked him himself. "That's disgusting."

"It's also got the goofy-assed grin off your face, so I'd say we're even." Peter said in satisfaction. "Can you give me the cliff notes and not the porno version?"

"There was nothing even remotely porno about it," Sylar huffed and thumped him with the cushion again. "We talked, she calmed me down and then," he frowned thoughtfully, "it was like she decided that we'd start over. She smiled at me. Honest to god smiled at me, Peter. I think she might even like me."

"You like her, she likes you. This is all good."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Peter waited for a long minute to digest that. "This is possibly the girliest conversation I have ever had."

"Me too." Sylar shuddered. "I can't believe I just said that. Can we pretend I didn't?"

"I'll call the Haitian," Peter grinned. "But only if you braid my hair and do my nails for me."

This time Sylar didn't stop with just the cushion.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Josephville was named after Samuel Sullivan's brother and the original owner of the Sullivan Brothers Carnival. The founders had wanted to remind themselves that, once upon a time, they had been led by someone who truly believed in family and protecting people like themselves. Before it had all gone so very wrong.

Lydia's daughter Amanda had taken her surrogate father's idea and made it a reality- without him around, obviously. Samuel might have had wrong intentions but his idea had been sound and they had taken that plot of desert land and turned it into a thriving community.

There was a small school for the children and a community hall and a hospital and even a small church.

As Sylar walked through the miniature town he could see children running and playing and enjoying their childhood in a way that he had never been allowed to.

His mother had never wanted her darling, precious boy to go out and play with the dirty, harsh children of the neighborhood. She had thought that they were heathens and that her angelic Gabriel needed to stay away from the godless children of their neighborhood. She also thought that he was too fragile to roughhouse with the older boys- although she was probably right in that regard. With his timid ways and his odd manner of speaking, he'd been practically a moving target for childhood bullies. Whilst he'd never learned to throw a punch or take a hit, there was no one who could hide better than Gabriel Grey; he had twisted his little body into spaces that even a child half his age shouldn't have been able to get into and all to escape a beating. In the end he stopped trying to be a normal child and acquiesced to his mothers ideal.

His life had been mostly helping out in the shop and studying to be better, to be special.

The words made him shudder even now and he forced those memories away by concentrating on the happy smiling faces in front of him.

They looked so happy and carefree and he found himself soothed by their antics. He had never really been one for children but even he was hard pressed not to feel a sense of satisfaction that he was part of the reason that they were free to be themselves. It was, in part, due to his had work with Peter and Emma that these children had somewhere where they could use their powers without fear of being found and dissected. He was making a better world for these children.

He leaned against a small hastily built house and watched for a while as the children seemed to be playing a bastardized version of basketball.

It was some moments before he realized that he was not alone.

One small girl was sitting on the steps by his feet, hugging a tiny doll to herself and staring longingly at the older children playing.

"Hi," he said and she looked up blinking in the light.

"Hello," she said solemnly. "Are you a stranger?"

He froze. Normal children were taught stranger danger in school and that it was a good idea to scream if one tried to talk to you. But this was a community full of specials. They might have been taught to incinerate strangers.

"Uh...maybe? I know Amanda, Edgar and Eli and I used to live at the Carnival for a while. I'm Sylar." He held out a hand.

The little girl stared at it. "Your life line is very long."

He blinked and peered down at his palm. "I suppose it would be."

"That's good," she gave him a shy smile. "I'm Anna."

That seemed to be permission to sit and Sylar sat himself down on the step next to her.

"Why aren't you out there playing, Anna?"

"I'm too short," she said with a heavy sigh. "I can't reach the hoop. I haven't got 'kinesis like Olly and I can't lev'tate like Josh so I can't play. Sally says we'd only get in the way." She gestured to the doll. "She's got a long life line too."

"Well that's...good." He frowned a little. "What's your power then, Anna."

She reached over and grasped his hand in her tiny fingers. She rubbed at a smudge on his hand and tutted at the state of his hands before sniffing slightly. "You're gonna live for a long time. Longer than everyone. You weren't happy before but you will be soon. You won't be alone for much longer. I can see lots of people being very 'portant to you; some dark, some light. But this one has a line that _bisects_ yours lots before it joins with you. Bisects means cuts across," she said sagely, looking up at him with big doe eyes. "It's a big word but very 'portant."

"I see," Sylar smiled. "And this one line that bisects mine, any chance it's a girl?"

"Beats me," Anna sighed and let go. "But there are lots of mini lines so you'll probably have kids someday. Everybody does." She sighed again and Sylar's lips twitched at her mini-adult demeanor.

"That they do."

They sat in companionable silence.

"That's quite a gift you have," he said eventually. "Being able to tell people's lives from their palms like that."

Anna shrugged. "It's boring. It's not cool like flying or anything. And it doesn't help with being short." She frowned again and looked longingly at the game. "They let Josh play and he can't fly, not really. He only lev'tates a little bit. It's not fair."

"No it's not." Sylar remembered sitting at his bedroom window and watching the boys play in the street and wishing so badly that one of them would invite him to come join in.

Anna looked up at his balefully. "What can you do?"

Sylar bit his lip, a mischievous smile flitting around his lips.

"How about this-" He flicked his fingers and her little body rose into the air. Anna squeaked, dropping her doll, and looked at him in shock. He waved his hand and she went soaring above the playground. The children gasped and pointed up at her as she ducked and dived over their heads shrieking in delight.

Sylar focused hard and the ball jumped out of a short boy's hand and leaped into her fingers. Then Anna spun in a circle and headed to the posts, dropping it in from just above.

Cheers and whoops of joy followed as Sylar slowly lowered her to the ground, only for her to be swallowed up by the gang of children.

"Anna can be on our team."

"No ours."

"Mine."

"She scored in our goal."

"No way."

Sylar leaned over and picked up the doll from where she'd dropped it and brushed off her dusty dress. Footsteps hurried over and he looked up just as a missile wrapped itself around his legs. He looked down at Anna's beaming smile.

"You," she cried, "are my favorite person, ever, ever, ever!"

"Glad to hear it," he laughed, "although Sally here is a little jealous."

"Me and Sally are gonna go play." She took the toy off him and gave him another beaming smile before running off to join her new friends.

Sylar felt the same rush of pleasure that he got when he had helped a new person understand their ability. It was a good feeling and he luxuriated for a moment, not hearing the footsteps until they were up close.

"Never knew you were such a push-over."

"Hello, Tracey."

The tall blonde pushed herself away from the wall and sauntered over, her long legs making the action look graceful instead of mundane.

Sylar watched appreciatively as her tight dress swung and swayed against her curves. He might only have eyes for one woman but he could appreciate beauty as much as anyone and Tracey Strauss was very beautiful; strong, lean- if a little too skinny- and blonde. She was also vicious and quite ruthless in getting her own way.

"That was cute," she said, humor coloring her voice. "I wonder how many people would have guessed that Sylar has a soft spot for the kids."

He shrugged uncomfortably. "How's Edgar?"

"Fast," Tracey gave him a purely female smile. "But I'm slowing him down some."

"Yeah, thanks darlin'," Edgar said from behind her. "Nothing a bloke likes his mates to hear more than that he's 'fast'."

"Sylar knows what I meant, baby," she said, wrapping an arm around him. "I was only teasing."

A kiss from her had his surly expression melting and Sylar watched as yet another of his friends showed himself to be truly whipped. He saw the same expression on Peter's face every single time he was with Emma.

As Tracey walked away leaving them to their boy-talk, Edgar flushed slightly.

"You know how it is, mate."

And Sylar did. Sort of. He was well aware that if Claire showed even the slightest hint of affection towards him, he would be just as wrapped around her little finger as Edgar and Peter were.

Of course, he didn't have to tell them that. Peter and Emma were the only ones who knew his secret as far as he was aware, and he wanted to keep it that way.

"This a casual visit or business?" Edgar asked, motioning for Sylar to follow him to his own little house.

Like so many of the other buildings around here, it was built in a hurry with the hands of everyone in the town and what it lacked in skill was more than made up for in love.

Edgar had chosen his interior décor to match his own flamboyant style and the contrasting colors often gave Sylar a headache if he stayed in there too long. Magenta and citrus do not go together- especially not in a hallway.

He balked in the doorway and the two men sat outside in the sunshine.

"Pleasure this time," Sylar answered after he'd been given a beer. "Been thinking about Peter's bachelor party."

"Yeah?" Edgar was only half-interested. "And what have we decided for Saint Peter? Six hours at Habitat for Homes followed by an evening of self-flagellation?"

Sylar gave him a warning look and Edgar held up his hands.

"I like the bloke, you know that. Can't help it if his piousness grates a touch. That is one boy who needs to loosen his drawers before they strangle him." He sipped his beer. "So, with you in charge I'm guessing not strippers and gin?"

"No. What do you think about going to an amusement park?"

Edgar spat out his beer. "You are taking Peter to Disneyland?" He stared incredulously at Sylar for a moment and then burst out laughing. "I know you wanted a baby brother, Sylar, but forcing him to go to Disneyland is taking this regressed childhood a bit too far. Or does Peter have a thing for Minnie Mouse?"

Sylar rolled his eyes and waited for Edgar to stop sniggering.

"We-I was thinking that maybe Peter would prefer a day of fun with friends and Emma than a night of debauchery with just us men."

"You want to go to Disneyland. I'd rethink your choice of pronoun, boy-o." Edgar snorted. "You want to throw him a bachelor party with his missus?"

Sylar was plagued with doubts. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"It's my idea of hell. Clean, pure, boring family entertainment. Peter will love it, mate," Edgar finished his beer.

Sylar watched him carefully. "And you won't mind, won't bring back memories best left buried?"

"Would you care if it did?" Edgar stared back.

He thought about it. Would it bother him if Edgar and Eli and the other Carnies refused to come? Would it matter to him if they all thought it was terrible idea and never wanted to speak to him again? It was Peter's day, true. But Sylar had made friends with these people and surely part of being a good friend meant that you tried to make them as comfortable as possible. His old self wouldn't have even bothered to ask. His even older self would have craved approval at all costs. Which was he now? Did he care?

Gabriel said yes. Sylar said screw 'em.

"No," he said after a while. "It wouldn't matter and I don't give a rats ass."

"That's what I thought," Edgar nodded. "We'll be safe, mate. Safe and sound. Besides, a theme park is different to a Carnival. We'll swing along just fine."

Sylar nodded once. "It doesn't bother you?"

"What? That you don't give a rats ass?" Edgar snorted again. "Bug me more if you did. They say a leopard can't change his spots, but if he did, he'd be a zebra. You're Sylar, mate. Not a fricking Petrelli. Giving a toss is for Zebra's."

"That's possibly the most disturbing metaphor I've ever heard."

Edgar grinned. "I know."

Sylar tipped his beer back and drained the can with a grimace,. He'd much prefer a fine wine, but when in Rome. He stood and incinerated the can with his powers.

"Show-off," Edgar grumbled.

"Unlike you," Sylar pointed out, "I'll be around long enough that Global warming will be an issue and, probably, my problem for years to come. I'm going to protect the planet since I'll be spending centuries on it. You could do the same for when you're older and grey-er."

"Rub it in," Edgar touched the silvery threads that had started to appear.

"Look at it this way," Sylar said as he started to rise into the air. "The grey and black kinda makes you look like a zebra."

He dodged out of the way as Edgar threw his can in the air.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

When Emma had asked Claire to be her maid of honor or chief bridesmaid, she hadn't had much clue what that would entail. Unlike most girls her age Claire hadn't had many close friends... at least none that went on to live to tell the tale. By her age most girls had at least one or two friends marry. But Claire had managed to get to this point in her life without ever being a bridesmaid.

She'd only ever been to one wedding and that was as a guest at Ando and Kimiko's wedding.

She'd had no idea of the amount of work that she would have to do. Everything from organizing the bridal shower and bachelorette party to talking Emma out of running away. She was currently sat in the living room holding a paper bag in front of Emma as the woman worked herself into a panic.

Emma had been sorting through invitations and making lists of what needed to be done and she'd taken one look at the table full of pieces of paper and flipped.

"I can't do this," she babbled, her hands flying all over the place. "Angela sent me a list of wedding guests longer than my arm. I don't know that many people!" She grabbed at the bag and took a few deep breaths before gesturing to the long guest list Angela Petrelli had insisted was essential for a Petrelli wedding.

"We wouldn't want to offend anyone, would we?" she'd said with a condescending smile as she handed the list over to Emma. She'd cast an eye over the table and hesitated. "Are you sure you don't require more help, dear? I know a great wedding planner called Martique who would-"

"No," Emma had insisted that she was fine.

She was fine. She could handle this.

"I can't handle this," she moaned. Claire crouched beside her.

"That's what I'm here for," she said soothingly. "Now, gimme the list."

She scanned the names on the piece of paper, her frown growing. Then she took one deep breath and tore the paper in half.

Emma's eyes widened and she squeaked.

"Whose wedding is it?"

Emma fluttered her hand wildly, her nose inside the paper bag.

"Whose wedding is it?" Claire insisted.

"Mine."

"Do you know any of these people?" she held up the torn sheets and Emma shook her head.

"Then who gives a rats ass if they're offended?" Claire tossed the paper over her shoulder and the sheets floated to the ground, officially dismissed.

She sat back against the table and patted Emma's hand. "Listen Emma, you are marrying a great guy. A great guy who doesn't care if the drapes match the linen, or if a senator is sat by a taxi-driver. He doesn't even care if you show up in jeans and shirt. Peter wants to marry you. This-" she waved her hand over the table, "doesn't matter to him. It's not worth getting so upset about. It's one day. One day where you'll probably be too flustered to notice whether the embroidered napkins are blue, green or covered in mini-marshmallows."

Emma laughed at that and pulled the bag away.

"So what is it?" Claire asked gently.

"I don't think Angela likes me," she admitted. "I wanted to get this right to make her accept me."

Claire sighed. "I don't think Angela likes me and I'm related. Sometimes I don't think she even likes Peter," she gave her a sad smile. "She's never gonna be that sweet little mother-in-law and by bowing to her you're only making yourself miserable. I should know, I tried. I don't think I'll ever be anything to her other than Nathan's little mistake." The mention of her bio-dad made her sigh heavily. "And Nathan was never exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy. With him and Mrs. Petrelli I was always wondering where they were gonna stick the knife. But Peter's not like that. He loves you and he'd hate that you're tearing yourself up trying to get her to like you. Just give it up and make yourself happy, at least that way you know you'll win with Peter."

Emma nodded slowly and leaned her head against Claire's shoulder. "Thank you."

"It's my job as head bridesmaid," Claire grinned, her face brightening. "It's kinda like being a cheerleader, except I don't have to do as much dancing."

"Maybe one day I'll do the same for you?" Emma offered.

"Unlikely, but thanks for the offer."

Emma frowned, watching Claire closely. "Why not?"

Claire just shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess I can't imagine getting married, or anyone wanting to marry me."

Emma's look was patently disbelieving.

"Oh, come on I'm the freak girl who can't die and won't age. I can't get hurt." Her tone was pained and she was glad that Emma couldn't hear it. "I also won't ever be normal. Guys don't want that."

"Is that what George said?" Emma laid a hand on her arm. George had been Claire's attempt at dating outside the 'specials'.

He was tall, good-looking, athletic and completely into Claire. At least he had been until she'd sliced her arm and spontaneously regenerated in front of him. Then he had been tall, good-looking, athletic and completely freaked out. Claire finally spilled her secret to him, hoping that he'd be cool with it.

He hadn't been.

He'd called her...well, needless to say she'd called the Haitian and removed George's memories of their relationship. Her dad managed not to say 'I told you so', but it was a close thing.

It had been her one and only attempt at dating since things fell apart with Gretchen and it had been a disaster. It had also just rammed home to her the fact that she was never going to be that normal girl with a normal boyfriend. She'd spent hours crying; not over George, but over the fact that everything she'd ever wanted was never going to happen.

She was never going to walk down the aisle to a man who adored her above all else and would be with her until the day she died. She was never going to grow old with someone and have his kids and god, it hurt.

She clenched her fists and forced a smile at Emma.

"George was a jerk. No, I guess marriage and all that won't be for me. I can be a super-aunt to all your kids and grand-kids and great grand-kids and I'll-" She bit her lip and pushed away the lump in her throat.

"You won't be alone forever," Emma inclined her head. "Sylar won't die."

A burst of hysterical laughter erupted and Claire smiled. "You know, a few weeks ago that really wouldn't have made me feel any better."

Emma smiled. "And now?"

Claire shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, I guess he's not the evil villain I've been painting him as."

"You two talked?"

Claire nodded. "Yeah and you'll be pleased to know I've decided to give him a chance."

"Really?" Emma's jaw dropped. "A date?"

"What?" Claire squeaked. "No! I meant a chance to prove he's not evil."

"Oh."

"Not a date. Not that he'd want a date anyway, right?"

She wasn't looking for an answer and Emma wasn't going to give her one.

Claire shuddered. "No. No way."

Emma wasn't pleased with how emphatic Claire was about that. Emma may not have known scary Sylar but she knew the man he was now and she knew how deeply he felt and cared for Claire. She'd been willing to wait for Claire to wake up and see it herself, but the girl was still in denial and it was hurting Sylar. Emma couldn't stand for that. She'd told Peter off for meddling, for throwing them together when he should just leave well enough alone. But that was before she realized how oblivious Claire was. Maybe she should push, just a little.

"Sylar is my friend Claire," she admonished, "he's a good man. He saved me when he didn't have to. Give him a shot."

"I said I was giving him a chance," Claire pointed out.

"You seemed to be getting on okay with him at the faire."

Claire smiled a little at the memory. "I never knew he could be funny. I mean actual humor and not 'I'll-cut-your-head-open' kind of funny. I had a good time talking to him." She shook herself, ignoring the knowing look on Emma's face. "But that was it."

"Maybe you shouldn't be too quick to count him out," Emma signed. "He is an attractive man and he'll be around forever- like you. If you let yourself you could come to care for him. You might be surprised."

"I'm not saying he isn't attractive in a scary kinda way," Claire admitted. "But there is just way too much history there. Besides there's no way Sylar would ever be interested in me." She pushed away the image of those eyes boring intently into hers. "Besides even if we both lost our minds and went there, he's not exactly the marriage and two point four kids type. Can you imagine Sylar as a dad?"

"Yes," Emma said simply.

And the weird thing was that Claire could too. She'd come to visit Peter once and seen him with Monty and Simon, her step-brothers. He'd been rough-housing and allowing them to clamber all over him. She'd panicked that he would hurt them, even though Peter had put her mind at ease. But now, thinking back, he had seemed like a natural.

Claire shook her head. "I'd be happy to settle into a sort of friendship with the guy where he isn't trying to eat my brain. Who knows it might be nice. And it'll be kinda cool to have someone to talk to over coffee a million years in the future," she frowned, "provided they have coffee a million years in the future. Oh, God, what will I do when the coffee runs out?" Her eyes widened. "Or chocolate?"

The truly horrified look on her face caused Emma to break out in peels of giggles. "Puts table decorations in perspective."

Claire grinned as she realized that she had succeeded in her mission of making Emma feel better. "Ready to tackle this mess now?"

Emma nodded bravely and clambered to her feet, putting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the table.

"If we divide the jobs between the four of us then we can get it done super-fast," Claire said. "You'll be overall decision maker. You decide on the guest list, the dresses, the color scheme, the menu and the order of service." She handed Emma a sheaf of papers. "I'll take the decorative side of things- that means sorting invitations, favors, parties and table tops, flowers." She grabbed another sheaf. "Peter is good with people so he can deal with the hiring; venue, catering, entertainment. Sylar is a master time keeper so he can set the schedule and ensure things are running along. He's also good at intimidating so he can go along with Peter and get the best prices on things."

She paused and turned to Emma who was watching her curiously. "What?"

"You're very good at organizing."

Claire blushed. "Kinda had to be as a cheerleader. You had to schedule studying in with pep rallies and bake sales, making sure your GPA didn't fall as you did choreography for air-heads. Dad always said I could make worms march in formation." She smiled serenely. "One of my many skills."

"Well, you have a career as a wedding planner. Might even be better than Martique."

Emma had a wonderful idea but she needed to talk it over with Peter before she could ask Claire. It would help all of them, her, Peter, Claire. And especially Sylar.

Maybe meddling wouldn't be so bad, after all.

The Petrelli's had certain traditions that couldn't be broken. Angela made sure of that and, although brunch was never one of them, she had decided that some sort of family meal should be established and so she invited everyone around for a family dinner one Friday evening. Peter insisted he had to work. Claire insisted she had other plans and Sylar stated categorically that he'd kill people if she made him go but, somehow, here they all were. Emma and Claire sat side by side with Peter at one end of the table and Angela at the other. Sylar sat across from Emma and Mrs. Coolidge sat by his side.

The table was laden with all the good food that Angela hadn't cooked and the odd family sat in awkward silence. Sylar wondered if it was possible to pretend to choke on a bread-stick and get excused; he eyed the grissini and tried to gauge how much it would hut to insert one in his eye. From the looks of her, Claire was wondering the same thing and they shared a commiserating look with each other.

Angela looked over at her youngest and only surviving son. "Peter, perhaps you'd like to say grace?"

"Uh," his eyes widened. "Mom, I don't think-"

"Peter."

Her tone was decidedly less than warm and he sagged and briefly offered thanks for family and food.

"Amen."

"There," Angela said, "was that so hard? It takes nothing to thank the Good Lord for the gift's he's given us."

"I thought we evolved like this," Sylar said, tongue in cheek as Angela reddened.

"So many sorts of creature all evolving simultaneously. Spontaneously? And aardvark and an antelope evolving out of the same primordial ooze? Don't be absurd, dear."

Sylar opened his mouth but was swiftly kicked by Peter.

"Don't start!" he mouthed and Sylar looked down.

It was so easy to annoy Angela Petrelli and so much fun and, truth be told, it was only when he was taunting her that he could resist the urge to slash her throat.

Peter had hit him and stapled his hands with a gun and he had forgiven him. Mohinder had shot him repeatedly and tried to poison him on more than one occasion and they were sort of friends now. Matt had imprisoned him and all was fine and dandy. Mother Petrelli had lied to him. She had given him a family and then cruelly ripped it away. She had told him that he was her little boy, she had made him want her to be proud of him and then destroyed his hopes of a family.

There were some things that it was just too hard to forgive and he found that, although his hate had diminished, he couldn't stand to be in the same room with the woman for long before his hands itched to go around her throat.

If he ever decided to go evil again, he'd once mused, she was first on his list. Only slightly beating Noah Bennett. And Jim Carrey, but for different reasons.

Sylar sighed as he sipped his soup. It was some sort of expensive thing that Angela had insisted was all the rage. Octopus and fried placenta or something equally gross. He decided to wait for the main course and dropped his spoon. It landed in the bowl with a clunk instead of a splash. He'd made the right choice.

"So, Emma, how are things progressing with the wedding?" Angela asked, only slightly patronizingly.

There was silence from the other end of the table until Peter touched his fiancee's hand. She glanced up from where she had been examining her soup with a fascinated expression and blinked at him.

"What?"

"Mom asked you how the wedding stuff is going."

"Good," she said and put her spoon down as she answered with her hands. "Claire has been helping lots with the preparation. The invitations go out soon. Peter booked the venue yesterday."

"Peter booked it?" Angela's brows were arched high. "Why is that, dear?"

Something about her tone sent a warning through Sylar and he looked up, pinning her with a look. A look she ignored.

"It's my wedding too," Peter's tone as rife with warning. "Why shouldn't I book it?"

Angela waved her hand. "No need to sound so petulant, Peter. Only in my day men weren't generally involved much in the wedding preparations."

"Well, Uncle Peter's nothing if not progressive," Claire said loyally. "I think it's a shame that the most important day of their lives gets left to the bride to deal with. Maybe the day would mean more to guys if they had a hand in it and there would be less of a divorce rate."

Her comments left the table in that uncomfortable silence again for a moment. Emma gave her a grateful look and Claire smiled at her.

But Emma was staring to look frazzled and Sylar noted that she dived for her wine glass.

He seemed to recall one 'family' meal when Nathan was alive. He'd thought that Heidi had been a drunk, turns out there was a reason for that. Anyone who aspires to the Petrelli clan needs to be able to either hold their own or hold their liquor.

"So where did you book, Peter?" Louise asked.

Peter swallowed his mouthful and smiled. "We're getting married in Central Park. Since me and Emma really met in Central Park, it seemed like the best choice." He touched Emma's hand and she smiled.

"I know it's a common choice, but it really just fits us," he added, kissing her fingertips. "And then the reception at the Boathouse."

Angela pursed her lips. "I see. It's not very big, is it?"

Peter shrugged. "Seats about 200 which is more than enough. It's just a small wedding after all."

Emma stiffened and purposely didn't look over at Angela. Sylar hid a grin. He had seen the torn up guest list and privately saluted Claire for her dramatic flair.

"I would have thought, if you'd preferred a more...typical location then Gotham Hall would have been more appropriate."

"Why?" Sylar grinned. "Because Batman is also a super-hero?"

Claire choked on her bread stick.

Angela wasn't amused. "You can seat up to 1200 there."

"You can also seat more than two thousand in Josephville which was my second choice," Peter said blithely. "Only we wanted to invite some old friends from the hospital and we think they'd be a little uncomfortable since they don't know about us specials and some might give it away."

"Mikey hasn't got the hang of not levitating yet," Sylar agreed. "Might upset a few people if we have to stop the service to get a kid down from the roof."

Claire covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

"Or the blue kid," Peter pointed out.

Sylar nodded, not sure which he was enjoying more, the unattractive red flush that Angela had going over her face or the adorable giggles that were emanating from Claire.

Before she could say anything, however, the doors opened and the main course was served. Angela seethed in silence as plates were put in front of each guest and drinks were refilled.

She waited until the servers vanished back into the bowels of the house before she took a deep breath. "I'm not sure I appreciate your levity here, Peter. This is a very important occasion."

Sylar could see Peter trying to reign in his temper and poor Emma looked like she was about to cry. Claire was sawing at her meat and spearing roast potatoes like they were personal enemies of hers.

They were all trying so hard to play happy families and keep the peace but he could see that it was upsetting them.

Especially Peter.

And no one upset Peter.

"Yes it is an important occasion," Sylar said smoothly, "for Peter and Emma. As mother of the groom I'm still at a loss to see what business it is of yours what they do. "

Angela forgot herself enough to glare at him. "I can't expect you to understand, Sylar. As an extended member of my family you'll have to realize eventually that anything a Petrelli does is subject to intense scrutiny. A wedding is more than a joining of two people, it's a obligation to those who've helped and an opportunity to those you want to help you. As you are all trying to put together a company to 'help' those with special abilities it might be in your best interests to cater to some of those who could help you in your endeavor."

"Tell me this," Sylar said as he sliced his meat, "is there any point, ever, when you stop plotting? Sleep, shower? Bathroom breaks? Or are you planning world domination on the porcelain throne?"

She smiled thinly. "Toilet humor is not appreciated here, Gabriel."

"Sylar." His grip tightened on his knife. "And I can say that what is not being appreciated is-"

"Sylar," Peter broke in with a shake of his head.

"No, Peter, let Sylar say what he wants to." Angela reached for her glass of wine. "After all, as you are so fond of telling me, he's family too."

Sylar looked at Peter who swallowed hard. He put down his knife and fork.

"I-"

"Can we stop it?" Claire suddenly interjected. "This is a great meal and all this stuff is ruining it. Okay, if I wanted indigestion I'd go to dinner with my dad and mom's boyfriend. Angela," Claire took a deep breath, "Emma and Peter appreciate that you only want to help, but what they want is very different to what you want and if you don't stop pushing you're going to upset them. You've already lost one son. Do you really want Peter to never speak to you again? Because I guarantee if you keep upsetting Emma, that is what is gonna happen."

All eyes were on Claire as she leaned forward intently. "This was supposed to be a nice family meal and so far all we've done is argue. How about we let Louise tell us about herself, since we're going to be family. Maybe tell us all about Emma growing up and then during dessert Angela and Louise can tell us about their wedding days. Can we just be normal for five minutes, please?"

Even if he had still been evil there was no way that Sylar could have denied those eyes. She looked close to tears and, even though he knew that she was just trying to change the subject, he could no more have denied her than he could stop the world spinning.

He closed his mouth and finished his vegetables.

"That is a lovely idea, sweetheart," Louise said, patting Claire on the hand. "What do you think, Angela."

There was no way that Angela could deny that without looking the evil witch and she knew enough when to withdraw from the field. She nodded at Claire and reached for her glass.

"Very well."

There was an awkward moment, a minute where tempers had to shift and the appropriate topics decided upon.

Sylar took a deep breath and made the first move. "So, Louise, what made you want to be a doctor? I know why Pete wanted to be a hospice nurse and a paramedic but what about you?"

The white-haired lady smiled softly at him. "Well, my parents were both music teachers, they claimed that music healed. My brother became a folk singer but I always thought they were too wishy-washy. I figured that I'd show them how healing was really done so, really," she gave them a sheepish look, "I wanted to be a doctor to prove my parents wrong. Of course it turns out that they were far more right than they knew." She touched her daughter's hand. "I've seen Emma's gift in action, calling to people, comforting people and I'm glad I was wrong. But while she can heal their hearts and souls, it's nice to know that there's someone with a band aid for those slightly more obvious wound."

Claire gave a little laugh. "I think that's the most honest reason for doing anything."

"To annoy your parents?" Louise nodded and placed her cutlery down. "I think most of us would agree. Right Peter?"

He gave her his lop-side smile. "Certainly why I didn't become a lawyer."

Angela drew in a breath. "But then there's the other side of the coin. Those who want to impress their parents by becoming them."

Sylar stiffened. He knew what she was getting at. She was taunting him, telling him that he was like Samson Gray, a useless parasitic leech who'd kill for pleasure and destroy all those around him, finally dying alone and unloved. His face flushed and his fingertips crackles with energy.

"God, I hope not," Claire said sweetly. "I'd hate to become my dad, those rimmed glasses wouldn't suit me, although they might make me look more intelligent. Not that I'll ever need glasses, but I think I could carry them off. What do you think, Sylar?"

He glanced over at her, his temper barely hanging by a thread. But it worked. She smiled at him and he found himself smiling back.

"Yeah," he said, "you could carry them off."

"Unless we're talking bio-dad," she babbled, "Nathan never wore glasses, right?"

"No, Nate was too vain to wear glasses," Peter said, picking up where she dropped the conversation.

Around him Emma, Claire and Peter started a very odd conversation about faking intelligence and being blonde and he listened with only half an ear allowing himself time to cool down.

Angela Petrelli was going to be the death of him, or he was going to kill her; one way or the other.

When Peter had first told everyone that Sylar was good now and going to live with him, Angela had been less than delighted but had, as usual, tried to find a way to work out in her favor.

She'd tried to wrap Sylar around her little finger, working on those same mommy issues that had worked before. But this time he was wise to her machinations and refused to allow her to manipulate him.

In short order she'd gone from cajoling potential mother figure to cynical plotting manipulative bitch, not that it was a huge leap, to be honest.

But her lies and schemes would not work on him, he just had to keep his wits and his temper whenever he was around her.

Easier said than done.

And easier when he had people willing to step in front of him like Peter... and Claire it seemed.

Twice now this evening she had stopped him from saying or doing something that he'd, if not regret, then at least have to apologize for and he was grateful in the extreme.

If he wasn't already in love with her then this would have cemented her place in his heart and, as desserts came out, he wondered if there was possibly any way that she could ever love him back.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter the new.

"You shall never defeat me!" he yelled defiantly, his hands raised in triumph. "I shall never cave to the oppression of your tyranny!"

"There is no oppression!"

"And I will not be swayed by your clever words and pretty lies; for I am the Dungeon Master!"

Sylar glared at Peter as they stayed huddled behind the supply shelves.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Peter rolled his eyes and peered out between the stacks, shifting so he could see past the rows and rows of tuna cans. "Listen kid, we're not here to hurt you."

Sam 'the Dungeon Master' Wexham clearly didn't believe him.

A routine seek and save had gone so very drastically wrong. Usually when Peter and Sylar arrived on the scene they found a scared and confused human freaking out about this weird thing that was happening to them.

Usually they had to soothe said human and help him/her/it come to terms with their ability. They weren't usually met by a sixteen year old conspiracy theorist with a grudge, trigger happy finger and a tenuous grasp on reality.

The scrawny teenager held out a thin, paint speckled hand and pointed to a nearby fax machine.

The white metal seemed to bubble and boil and the paint puffed out, turning red, turning hot, turning to living flesh that slithered and swished. The wire lead forked and flicked and the receiver fell off its perch, elongating and breathing fire. Two yellow eyes blinking on either side of the melted keypad narrowed and flickered with menace. In less than twenty seconds a fire-breathing dragon stood where the fax machine had been, its beady eyes fixed on the stacks where Peter and Sylar hid.

"You have to admit, that is a pretty cool power," Peter said as he ducked back behind the tuna cans.

Sylar kicked at the remains of the photocopier at his feet, relived that it was no longer a lava-spewing monster.

Cool wasn't the word he would have used.

"My minions have no problem setting fire to your ass," Sam's voice cracked, the high pitched whine as irritating as the stuff that it was spewing. "I won't become your evil puppet!"

"We don't want an evil puppet. We just wanna talk to you."

"Oh," Sam paused, "Well, good. Because I am firmly on the side of light. The Force. I won't be used to hurt people, so if you're US military you can back off. I wouldn't be any use in a war. I didn't even make summer camp."

"There's a shock," Sylar called and Peter swatted at his arm.

"Don't antagonize the kid."

Sylar seethed. "He tried to kill us with a photocopier and a toaster." He kicked the charred remains at his feet. "A toaster, Peter. You want 'death by toaster' on your death certificate?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply only to have Draco the Fax machine roar at him. The tuna cans by their heads heated, flash fried and exploded, covering Peter in hot tuna chunks.

Sylar glowered. "Remind me why we want to help this kid?"

"Listen, Sam," Peter yelled, ignoring Sylar, "We're not military."

"FBI?"

"No."

"CIA."

"No."

There was a beat.

"Watcher's Council?"

"Screw this, I'm gonna stop him," Sylar stepped out from behind his cover and immediately faced two writhing snakes as tall as he was. Their purple fanged faces undulated menacingly at him, their eyes pinning him with their evil intent and a company logo shining brightly on their scaly hide.

A familiar company logo.

"You turned a water cooler into a Hydra?"

If he wasn't so pissed Sylar would be impressed.

He was pissed.

"Water cooler into a Hydra? Seriously?"

Sam edged back slightly from the menace in Sylar voice. "C-Cryohydra. All heads breathe jets of frost 10 feet long and every jet deals 3 d6 points of cold damage per head."

Sylar gave him a sympathetic look. "No girlfriend, huh?"

"L-look, I don't think you realize the danger you're in," Sam stammered. "You should take your partner and tell your consortium of Villains that I'm part of the... the Doompatrol Justice League of Superhero... Elite, Section 8 and..." he trailed off at Sylar's look. "When I find them."

"We are not villains," Sylar said patiently, ignoring the Hydra hissing in his ear. "We're Specials. Like you."

"Oh, the all for one speech," Sam laughed nervously. "You're Men In Black. I can tell."

"Oh yeah, how?"

"Uh... you're wearing black?"

Sylar looked from his black suit to Peter's and back again.

He sighed. "I'm wearing red socks."

"You have no power over me, evil one," Sam stated, a little more hesitantly.

Sylar lifted his hand and flash froze the Cryohydra- a little something he'd borrowed from Tracey.

The beast turned from a deep purple to a crystalline blue and the ice crackled.

Sam gaped as Sylar pushed the frozen sculpture with one finger. It toppled and shattered against the floor.

He smirked.

"H-how did you do that?"

Sylar blew on the end of his finger like it was a smoking gun. "Did you honestly think you were the only one with powers, Sam?"

"Well, yeah. I kinda figured I got bit by a radioactive something in my sleep. Was this done to me, was I experimented on? Oh, god am I a cyborg or a... magician? An X series? Is Harry Potter real?"

Sylar heard Peter sniggering from his corner and ran a hand over his face.

He needed a vacation.

"No you're not a cyborg or an X series or a magician, you didn't get bitten or created or even experimented on. Yet. Harry Potter is real though."

"Really?"

"No."

Sam sagged a little and then bristled. "You're trying to throw me off the scent, evil nemesis."

"Listen you little-" Sylar started but was cut off by his pocket sudden ringing at him.

Who was calling him? Peter was here and everyone else who had his number was aware that he was on a job. It was rare for him to get phone calls anyway, anyone who wanted to get hold of him usually called Peter and asked him to pass on a message.

He yanked out his cell phone and peered curiously at the caller i.d.

And stared.

"Uh, excuse me," Sam called, "evil villain banter time. It's kinda rude to ruin the ambiance with a phone call."

"Shut up." Sylar reached out a hand and Sam slammed into the wall, his arms and legs pinned against the racks of tuna.

"Hey!"

But Sylar wasn't listening, almost in a daze he pressed 'answer' and spoke hesitantly into the cellphone. "Claire?"

"Sylar?" the voice was wobbly and halting but it was definitely her voice. It was Claire, Claire was calling him.

His heart raced and his throat went dry and a million and one scenarios and connotations flickered through his head. He didn't even think that Claire had his number, she'd never asked for it, never been interested in it and, to be honest, he could never have imagined her willing to call him. So this was something of a surprise.

A pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless.

"Hi, uh...are you okay?"

"N-no. Not really."

He had heard the wobble in her voice but had attributed it to the line, now he could hear clearly that she was on the verge of tears and his insides tensed up like a vice. "What is it, what's wrong? Where are you?"

"'m sorry to c-call," she took a deep breath, "but I didn't wanna bug Peter or Emma, they've got so much on and... and... there's nothing... I just needed …" another shuddery breath and his heart thumped louder.

"Claire?"

Peter stepped out from behind the shelves, a question in his eyes. "Sye?"

Sylar shook his head and listened harder.

"I... my boss... he tried to... I wasn't... I quit my job, I walked out and kept walking and I don't know where I am and I left my purse and I'm sorry to bug you but I didn't know who else to call."

She was crying now and the sound tore what was left of his heart and stomped it in the ground.

"Claire," he soothed softly, "it's okay, it'll be fine. What street are you near? Can you tell me anything about where you are?"

She sniffed and mentioned a street name. Sylar closed his eyes and fixed it's location in his head.

"I'll be there in five minutes."

He closed the phone and tucked it in his jacket before turning to Peter quickly. "Something's wrong with Claire, I've got to go."

Peter frowned. "Why didn't she call me?"

Sylar didn't know and didn't care. Claire Bennett was crying and there wasn't a thing that could stop him from going to her. Not a thing. He stepped forward ready to jump into the air and take off but

Peter's hand on his sleeve stopped him.

"What?" he growled. How dare Peter stop him from going to her. Didn't he know what this meant? Didn't he know that Sylar had been waiting for Claire to come to him, to trust him for so long and this could be it? Anger flared in his stomach and edged towards his spine, his fingers tingled in anticipation of a fight.

Peter nodded at the far wall and Sylar looked at the young boy pinned to the wall.

"Oh. Right." He dropped the telekinetic hold and Sam fell to the floor, his eyes wide.

"Who are you guys? FBI, CIA, some undercover government agency who wanna take me away and do tests on my brain." His hands clutched at his head. "Oh my god, you wanna suck out my brain!"

"I don't do that anymore," Sylar hesitated and tilted his head, "mostly."

"We are Special, just like you." Peter offered.

Sam moved closer, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "You both have powers? What do you want with me?"

"You specifically, not much. We represent a group who help people with abilities like you," Peter explained, "we let you know that you're not alone, we offer help to those who don't know how to use their powers or need advice, training."

"X-men!" Sam beamed, "oh my god, you're Professor X!"

Peter forced out a grimace. "Peter, I'm Peter Petrelli and this is-"

"Leaving."

Not realizing the danger he was in, Sam reached out and grabbed hold of Sylar's hand. "You can't, I haven't even-"

"Listen, Dungeon brat," Sylar snarled, "the woman I've been in love with forever has finally just asked for my help and there is no way that I am gonna let her down, so let me go or I'll reduce you and your Cryohydra to six sided dice."

Sam let go and, before he could step back, Sylar was gone.

Peter winced, wondering if Sylar had scared the boy. "Sorry about my friend. He has kind of a long history... and a short temper."

"Most heroes have complicated back stories," Sam shrugged, "he's like Wolverine and Cyclops in one. This is beyond awesome, man!"

Peter patted his back. "I'm gonna introduce to my friend Hiro, I think you two will have a lot in common."

"Okay," Sam sighed happily. He looked down at the pieces of ice scattered across the floor. "He totally vanquished my Dragon and my Lava Troll."

"Sorry about that," Peter winced as they stepped over the remains of the photocopier. "Like I said, Sylar has a few issues. One of then being that he won' t let anything happen to Claire. She's my niece."

"Most heroes try to protect regular people, like Superman and Louis Lane."

Peter grinned. "Claire can more than protect herself. Besides she's not a regular, she's a Special too. Claire can regrow limbs."

Sam froze and slowly turned wide eyes to Peter. "There are Special girls?"

Peter grinned. "We'll make a stop at Josephville, I think you're gonna enjoy this."

She felt stupid. That was the overriding emotion as she stared down at the phone in her hand.

Stupid.

Stupid for not noticing that her boss had gone beyond vaguely interested and into creepy leering. Stupid for not noticing that he knocked things over in her office just to get her to pick them up and watch her ass. Stupid for doing it without thinking. Stupid for coming back early off her lunch break because he had something to ask her. Stupid for not noticing the closed door and the lack of other staff. Stupid for not realizing what he was doing until his hands were all over. Stupid for not hitting him harder. Stupid for running out without her wallet and keys. Stupid for not watching where she was going. Stupid for crying, stupid for calling.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Oh she was special all right, just the wrong kind.

She wrapped her arms tight around herself and sniffed, feeling miserable. What had she been thinking? Why the hell hadn't she been more on guard? She knew that her stupid boss had the hots for her, she just didn't believe that he'd be one of those assholes who'd try and force himself on his staff by promising a raise.

She shuddered as she felt phantom hands crawl up her thighs and ghost over her shirt.

Scumbag.

Claire swiped at the tears on her face and dragged in deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

She'd walked out, having given her resignation in decibels that bordered on the Richter scale, and had run, memories of Brody racing around in her head. She'd run far and fast and had only stopped when her lungs were pounding more than her heart; which was when she realized that she was lost and that, although her phone was in her pocket, she'd left her keys and her wallet back on the desk in her office. Old office.

The realization dawned that her bills were due on Monday and she was now one of the occupationally challenged

Claire freaked out.

Her fingers flew over the keypad on her phone, her brain frantically trying to come up with someone who could fix this, without resorting to 'I told you so' (which ruled out her dad), who was close by (which ruled out her mom and everyone from Josephville), someone she could trust (which ruled out Angela Petrelli), someone who would be useful (ruling her brother out completely) and someone who didn't have the world and it's wedding on their shoulders which ruled out Emma and Peter.

Then her finger had flicked over Sylar's number, programmed into her phone by Emma under Claire's protestation, and she'd not even hesitated. Sylar wouldn't judge her, he wouldn't belittle her and, hopefully, he would just take her home.

God, she wanted to go home.

She closed her eyes and wished so hard that this day had never happened, that she'd open them and everything would be all right, everything would be perfect.

"Claire?"

She looked up and there he was. Tall, solid, reliable and so damned real. Claire felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes teared up.

"I-" she swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Sylar knelt down in front of her and hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Don't be," he said simply and that was it.

Tears slid in a torrent down her face, his gentle understanding tone cracking the tiny slivers of composure she had been able to gather. She leaned forward, tucking her head against his shoulder and cried.

Sylar faced a dilemma. On the one hand he wanted to pull Claire closer, to nestle his face against her hair, breathe in and imprint her scent on him permanently. On the other hand he wanted to hunt down whoever had made her cry and eradicate them from the face of the planet.

He stroked her hair and murmured against the silky strands.

"Shh, it'll be okay. Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

Claire made a sound that seemed like a question and he rubbed slow circles on her back with his other hand.

"If it can't be bought, bought off, reasoned or negotiated with. We'll try scaring it into submission. If that doesn't work, I'll kill it."

Claire pulled back quickly and looked at him, her doe eyes wide and wet, looking every bit as adorable as a baby deer.

Sylar gave her a half-hearted smile. "Except killing is bad. Maiming. I could maim it?"

Claire's lips twitched and, to his disappointment, she pulled away and sat back.

"I don't want to be the reason you undo all your hard work."

He didn't mind. In fact he was positively eager to undo all his hard work of appearing human if it would ease that look on her face. A lifetime of penance to calm an angel. God, he was getting soppy.

He touched her cheek and stared into her eyes.

"What happened, Claire?"

"Nothing much," she sniffed, "my boss is a lecherous ass and I was stupid not to realize it sooner."

Sylar stilled, hoping that her words didn't mean what he thought they did because, all joking aside, he wasn't above regressing to his amateur surgery days.

Claire shook her head. "What is it with guys? Don't they know that 'no' doesn't mean 'I'm open to it if pushed'? I am so sick of being everyone's plaything!" Fury replaced shame and she gritted her teeth. "Brody, West, even Gretchen and George thought that they could just do what they wanted with me. Do I have 'victim' tattooed on my forehead or something?" She looked at him earnestly. "Why did you spend so much time coming after me? Even after you'd got my power. I'm serious, what is it about me that makes people want to hurt me?"

It was the pain in her voice, the quivering tone that suggested anguish beneath. This was something more than the fact that her boss had tried to hurt her, something more than the fact that her romantic relationships were a bigger train disaster that the one that had catapulted her friend into misplaced notoriety.

She really wanted to know and she wanted him to tell her. She wanted to know why he had been- and still was- obsessed with her.

"Innocence," Sylar couldn't help himself, he smoothed the back of his hand against her cheek as his voice dropped low. "Your entire being screams innocence and purity and light. Everyone wants so badly to touch that light, even those who know they are not worthy. You think you're special because of your power, Claire? No. It's only a tiny fraction of what makes you special." He cupped her chin in his hand, "You have elegance and light in your very being. The lonely want to touch it, the depraved want to corrupt it but everyone wants it. You're like a Monet in the living room, the Venus De Milo in the garden, a Ming Vase in the kitchen. You're an accessible treasure, Claire. A rare find in an everyday place."

Claire stared at him, seemingly mesmerized by his words.

"What did he do?" he asked softly.

"He touched me," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. "Pushed me over his desk and put his hands up my skirt. I thought he was going to-" she trailed off.

"I'll kill him."

His words shook her out of her stupor.

"No."

"Claire-"

"No!" She shook her head and edged back. Sometime in the past few minutes her hand had wound itself around his shirt and she unclenched her fists, allowing his shirt to fall back into place. "No, I won't have you do that to yourself. He's not worth it."

"He hurt you."

Claire smiled sadly. "Lots of people do. But you've built a life for yourself and his life is not worth you losing all that you've worked for. Besides," she held up a hand as he started to interrupt, "if he's dead he'll only hurt once."

Sylar opened his mouth and then closed it again, a look of impressed approval on his face. "Well that's devious and not just a little scary. Well done."

"I learned from the best."

"Me or your dad?"

"Both."

"Oh good."

"Yeah."

She grinned at him but it faded quickly. "I ran out of there like a coward."

Sylar shrugged. "Think of it as retreating in order to formulate a better battle strategy. That's what I did every time someone beat me."

"And by 'someone' you mean Peter."

Sylar glared at the smirk on her face. "No."

"So who else managed to outwit the mighty Sylar?"

He shifted. "Well there was... or how about..." he sagged, "fine, it was Peter."

"And yet by retreating I left my wallet and keys and quit. I have no job. I am unemployed." Panic flitted over her features. "Oh my god, I have no job."

Seeing that she was inches away from hyperventilating, Sylar grabbed her arm.

"Calm down."

"I need a job, Sylar!"

"Claire-"

"We're in a recession!"

"Cl-"

"How the hell are we supposed to live if we don't get paid?"

"I can make gravel into gold."

Claire blinked. "Oh." She sagged a little. "Well, that's a little unfair."

His lips lifted in a smile. "Isn't it just? Courtesy of Bob Bishop. Anyway money isn't an issue, Claire."

"It is," she maintained, "I mean, thanks for the implied offer but I need to do this. I need to have a job and work."

"Why?"

It was one thing about her that he'd never understood. Her father had a major paycheck which he would be more than happy to hand over to his daughter. Nathan had left her a sizable chunk in his will and the Petrelli's were always trying to give her money; Angela and Peter both, but Claire always refused to accept it. She rented a small apartment in the city and dragged herself everyday to a place she hated in order to pull a paycheck she didn't need and he just didn't get it.

"To be somebody," she said slowly, "to be something."

"I don't follow."

She gave him a bright smile and held her hand out. Confused he reached forward to shake it.

"Hi! I'm Claire Bennett. Who are you?"

He played along. "Sylar."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm in acquisitions and consultation." He gave her the standard line he used whenever a normal asked him what he did for a living. "I acquire special items and aid others in caring for them."

"Wow," she gave him another bright smile. "That sounds cool."

"It is, and you?"

"Oh I'm not allowed to do anything. I can't be hurt and I can't die so I'm under 24 hour protection in case... well, I'm not really sure, in case I have fun I guess. Work? My father pays for everything so I don't have to work. Hobbies? I'm an indestructible ex-cheerleader, I fall off buildings for fun. Friends? My adopted Grandmother drags me around society so I don't have to find friends and she tells me what to wear and where to go. I'm actually not a real person. I'm an unbreakable broken doll. I don't _do_ anything."

Sylar said nothing because there was nothing to say. That was Claire in a nutshell.

So many people were defined by their job, by who they were. When you couldn't tell anyone who you were for fear that the government would use you as a viable alternative to a pincushion and you didn't have a job to define you, then how could anyone get to know you. Who were you?

Hi, I'm a student, lawyer, nurse, librarian, psychopath (a valid if unusual lifestyle choice), dentist (a less valid if slightly more usual lifestyle choice), shopkeeper, waitress etc etc. What could Claire say? Hi, I'm an immortal.

He shifted and moved to sit next to her, staring out at the crowds in deep thought.

"Besides," she said after a while, "it's not like dad and Nathan's money is going to last me forever. One day I'm gonna have to earn my own way and the gap in my CV will take some explaining. Best to get into the habit of work now, right?"

He nodded once. "But you can't go back to work for that guy."

He wished there was something that he could do for her but she was right. She needed to learn to take care of herself for when her parents were no longer around and he didn't think she'd accept help off him, at least not just yet. Maybe one day she would but right now he wished that there was something, anything that he could do to make things easier for her.

"No," she sighed, "I'll need to hunt something up. It just sucks that I can't even have him done for sexual assault," she held up her unblemished wrists, "no proof. But there's no telling who else he's done this to and he's gonna get away with it." She faced him, sincerity on her face. "I really wanna make him hurt, Sylar."

And there it was, something that he could do.

"I can help you with that."

Claire gnawed on her lip. "You're not going to kill him, right?"

"Of course not." Sylar smirked. _But you'd be surprised what you can live through_.

Dirk Ollerenshaw had had just about enough for the day. He'd been up to his eyeballs in work all day. The Wayne foundation was reviewing their funding, the Kent's were talking about withdrawing from the journalism program and Mrs. Stark wanted a working budget plan on her desk by the next day. He thought he'd been on top of it all and then his little eye-candy had up and walked out at lunch leaving them all in the lurch.

Stupid blonde bitch.

She'd been flirting with him for weeks, wearing next to nothing and giving him those million watt smiles and that simpering tone. Then when he'd gone to take what she'd been offering she gets all offended and runs right out of the building. They were all the same, these airheaded ex-college girls. Majoring in fashion and spending four years screwing anything that moved and suddenly they were in the real world without daddy to bank roll them. They had debts and an expensive shoe habit and hoped that by wearing short skirts and flirting with the boss that they could get away with filing their nails instead of reports. Then when a decent hard working man finally gives in to the painted pouts and the breathy invites they turn tail and run. Fucking tease.

He was firing her ass and lets see her try to get a reference out of him.

He glared at her empty desk and, with a smile of satisfaction, patted his own desk drawer knowing that her keys and wallet were locked up tight. Just wait until she came back to get them. He'd have that bitch crying and begging for her job back.

Maybe he'd even let her earn it.

"Uh, Mr. Ollerenshaw?"

He looked up to see Tammi hovering nervously by the door.

"What is it, Tammi, I'm a little busy."

"I know, sir, but there's someone here to see you." She shifted uneasily. "He doesn't have an appointment."

"Then I'm not interested in seeing him."

"Oh, I think you are."

The smooth silky voice preceded a tall, broad shouldered man in dark glasses who seemed to glide by Tammi like she wasn't even there.

His dark suit and slicked back hair all but screamed 'government agent' and Dirk nodded to Tammi who edged out quickly and shut the door behind her, glad that it wasn't her who was trapped in the room with the man who exuded danger.

Dirk gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Please take a seat Mr-"

The man didn't take him up on his offer and just stood there, his face inscrutable behind the glasses.

"You are Dirk Ollerenshaw?"

"That's what it says on the door." Dirk tried a smile which fell as flat as his joke. His hands started to sweat.

"What can I do for you?"

"It's more a case of what I can do for you."

"Oh?"

"My employer has, for some considerable time, been looking for somewhere to place her not inconsiderable assets. She's a real pillar of the community and has ties to every major player in the city; the Mayor, the chief of police, the Senate seat. She's active in most charity work and was looking to expand. We heard that your company had some experience in handling the needs of others of her caliber."

"Yes," Dirk swallowed. "We handle assets for the Linderman Foundation, Stark Enterprises, the Reid-Queen-Rayner GreenCorps and even a subsidiary of Garrick and West. Our client list is quite respectable."

"Well, Mrs Petrelli had heard you were well connected."

"Mrs Petrelli?" Dirk's eyes lit up even as his throat went dry. The Petrelli's were the first family of New York. Even before Senator Petrelli's mysterious death and disappearance which, in that order, wasn't even the most remarkable thing, the family was at the uppermost pinnacle of societies echelons.

To get a Petrelli account would not only be a feather in his cap, it would be the whole damned bird.

He could retire early and would probably get a nice promotion, not to mention all those big name clients who were wavering in their support would turn back so fast they'd get whiplash; anything to be on the Petrelli train.

The man in front of his gave him a humorless smile. "Yes, Mrs Angela Petrelli. She would be willing to invest millions in the right company. With the right man in the lead."

Dirk swelled.

"There is just the one thing that Mrs Petrelli will want to know, Mr. Ollerenshaw."

"Anything."

"Why did you attempt to rape her granddaughter?"

Dirk blinked. "What?"

The man cocked his head. "Claire Petrelli, well, Bennett to all those not in the know."

All of the color leached from Dirk's face. "What?"

"Sweet little blonde who was stationed here to see if your company was reputable, compatible with Petrelli's ideals and vision. Claire Petrelli who ran out of here not two hours ago after being attacked by you."

"N-n-no, wait!" Dirk held up a shaking hand. "No, there is some mistake."

"Yes there is."

The man reached up into the air with one hand and flicked his fingers down.

The blinds that had been fitted to his office windows slammed shut of their own accord, granting them privacy and obliterating all prying eyes.

Dirk stepped back in alarm. "How did you do that?"

"I think you have bigger problems to worry about," the man said, "Mrs Petrelli has always valued family above all else. Above fame, above fortune... above the law."

Dirk's eyes widened as a small sardonic grin flit across the man's lower face. He prowled across the room, his every step as smooth and deadly as a panther's predatory amble. Dirk couldn't move, his eyes were fixed on the man's face, hidden behind those damned glasses. He was inches away now, so close Dirk could smell his cologne and feel the aura that surrounded him.

"She's even somewhat... flexible on the idea of morality when it comes to her family. And you, Dirk Ollerenshaw, tried to rape her granddaughter. Her granddaughter, Mr. Ollerenshaw. Do you have any idea what that makes you?"

Dirk shook his head.

"Defunct."

His hand shot out and fingers wrapped around Dirk's throat.

"Wait, wait!" Dirk clawed at the hand. "I didn't know! All right, I didn't know she was a Petrelli! I didn't even know Mrs. Petrelli had a granddaughter."

"And that makes it all right to force yourself on a woman?" His hand squeezed and Dirk's eyes bulged.

"Ghhh!"

The man let go quickly and Dirk half slid down the wall he hadn't realized he was backed up against.

He rubbed his throat and croaked. "Look, I don't know what Claire told you, but she'd been coming onto me for weeks. You're a guy," he tried to get some fellow feeling, "she's hot, right. If she wore short skirts around you all the time and flirted and... and... maybe I came on too strong but I wasn't going to rape her! L-let me talk to Claire."

"That," said the man coolly, "is not going to happen."

He raised a hand again and Dirk tried for defiance although he was aware it came out more pathetic than he had wanted.

"You touch me again and I'll have you done for assault. You think you can get away with this, just because you're Angela Petrelli's watchdog? Y-you can't hurt me, this is assault. I'll call the police."

The man folded his arms and gave a genuine smirk of amusement.

"How do you plan on doing that?"

Dirk pointed to the phone. But it wasn't there. Neither was the table. Or the room.

He screamed and grabbed for the ledge as the cliff-face crumbled away under his feet, tumbling down to the frenzied sea below. The cold wind whipped his hair and the salt air stung at his wide eyes.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!"

"I don't think He listens to rapists."

Dirk's eyes bugged even more as they landed on the man hovering in the air in front of him, seemingly unfazed by the fact that they were no longer in New York City but halfway up some cliff.

Dirk's fingers gripped tightly to the rock wall, trying desperately to find some purchase. But the jagged rocks provided no hand holds and he only succeeded in slicing his fingers to ribbons.

He half twisted on the narrow strip of rock under his feet and titled his head back, trying to gauge how far he was from the top.

Almost as far as he was from the bottom and with little or no chance of making it. There was no way up and only one way down. He sobbed and tears and sweat mingled on his cheeks.

"What are you, how did we get here?" he cried.

"We're here because you're an ass and I'm done playing nice. We're going to go back to your office and you're going to write a nice big severance check for Claire. Then you're going to write a glowing letter of recommendation and then you're going to write a letter of resignation."

Dirk looked down and let out a sob, closing his eyes abruptly as the vista dropped before him. "Oh god!"

He felt a slap on his face and his eyes sprung open.

"You're not paying attention!" snapped the man.

"You're a demon! A devil!" he cursed.

The man grinned. "You don't even know the half of it." He floated forwards until his breath was on Dirk's cheek and all Dirk could see was his own scared face mirrored in those glasses. "I could boil your blood until molten lava dripped from your eyes and burned tear tracks in your face. I could fry every circuit in your brain and leave you a vegetable, sitting in your own filth. I could rewire your head until pleasure was pain and pain was a pleasant memory as every nerve ending screamed in perpetual agony. I could trap you inside your own personal nightmare, reliving every mistake, every insecurity, every imagined horror until you begged for death. I could make you live in hell for the rest of eternity with torture even the Marquis De Sade would turn from and I'd do it with a song in my heart."

Dirk shuddered, fear spread along every nerve, every vein, every inch of him until he was certain he'd never be safe again. "Who are you?"

"I'm the soul the devil didn't want." An evil grin spread over his face. "Do we have an accord?"

Dirk sobbed his agreement and the demon stepped back.

"Good," he said and motioned to the desk.

Dirk looked around. The cliff was gone, the water, the never-ending sky, all of it. He was back in his office, trembling and terrified of the monster in the room but alive.

He fell into his chair and hauled open the desk drawer, his eyes fell on Claire's wallet and keys and he handed them to the demon who glowered.

Dirk squeaked and grabbed his checkbook and pen. He scrawled a ludicrous amount and signed it, handing it over with shaking hand.

Then he grabbed his keyboard and frantically wrote the two most important letters of his life.

Minutes later he printed and handed them over to the creature on the edge of his desk.

He grinned as he took the letter of recommendation. "Mrs. Petrelli will be relieved that more... permanent measures aren't necessary. However, in the circumstances, I don't think we'll be doing business here. Of course that won't matter to you because you're going to hand your letter of resignation to Tammi and walk out the door and get a job as a janitor or garbage man and," his voice lowered to the tone that would remain in Dirk's nightmares forever, "if you ever lay a hand on another girl against her will I will know and I will find you and I. Will. Make. You. Pay."

Dirk closed his eyes and nodded his head frantically. "Y-yes, sir."

There was no answer and when he opened his eyes, the man was gone.

Dirk's knees gave way and he fell onto the floor, his breath coming in ragged and raw.

What the hell was that? That was impossible, there was no way that that had even happened, how could he have been here and then there? It was impossible.

It must have been a dream, a very vivid dream.

Or maybe the guy had hypnotized him, drugged him?

It had felt so real, could it have been a hallucination?

But he had been there he had felt the rocks beneath his feet and the salt air and the sting of the icy wind against his face. He had felt the stone at his back and the pain of scrabbling for purchase..

He looked down at his blood-stained hands and the ragged ends of his nails.

Bile rose in his throat and he finally lost control of his bladder.

He grabbed his coat and screamed for Tammi.

She poked her head in and was taken aback as a white piece of paper was thrust into her face.

"What the-"

"Give this to the Regional manager,

Tammi gaped. "What? How am-... did you pee yourself?"

"Email it, fax it, fricking carrier pigeon, I don't care. I quit effective now." He wrenched the door open and ran out into the street leaving her staring wide-eyed after him.

Sylar and Claire watched him race from the building as if the hounds of hell themselves were after him.

Claire beamed. "Now that is awesome."

"Isn't it just. Note the way he's still breathing."

"Bonus points. What did you do?"

Sylar shrugged. "I suggested that he's better suited in a different profession. In a decision between janitor and corpse I believe he made the right choice."

"You rock."

Sylar took off his glasses and handed the two pieces of paper to her along with her belongings.

"I believe these are yours, my lady."

Claire took them from him and opened the check. Her eyes widened.

"Holy crap!" she looked from the obscene amount to him and back again. "You know what, Sylar, you are still a very very scary man."

Sylar's smile fell and he hunched his six foot tall frame inwards. "Right."

Idiot, of course he was. He'd just spent five minutes with a man and scared him so much that he had wet himself and run screaming from a building. Scary. Frightening. Not the words you want to hear from the woman you're in love with. Would he never be anything else in her eyes than the man who killed her parents and ripped open her skull? Could he never be something more?

Claire reached up and took his face in her hands. She planted a kiss on his cheek and met his shocked eyes.

"Scary as hell. But you are completely, 100%, totally my hero."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter

Peter yanked open the door and all but pulled his fiancee inside. Emma gave him a bemused frown as he clenched her tight.

"Thank god you're here, I'm going crazy."

"I got your text," she signed, "what's wrong?"

Peter's face twisted into a pained expression. "Honestly, Em, I'm not even sure. He's been like this since last night."

Alarmed now, Emma grabbed his arm. "Sylar?"

Peter nodded. "I don't know what to do. I think it's serious and there may be... repercussions."

She pointed to the living room. "Is he there?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer but was preempted by Sylar's head peering around the doorway. He broke into a huge smile.

"Emma! I thought I heard you. Come in!"

She blinked once at the overly enthusiastic greeting and cautiously made her way into the apartment.

"Hello, Sylar."

He came out of the kitchen and in long strides made his way to her. He grasped her shoulders and kissed her cheek effusively.

"Great to see you!" he beamed. He cast a look down her and gave her a disapproving look. "You need to eat more. You and Peter are just the same, so busy saving the world that you forget the important things like lunch. Sit down, I've got some waffles, freshly made." He waved her to the table. "Sit."

Emma watched as big bad scary Sylar all but skipped into the kitchen, pausing and spinning on his heel once he reached the doorway just to point at Peter. "You too, pal."

Peter pointed after him and gave Emma a "see, what did I tell you?" look but she was already there, eyes wide.

She dropped her bag by the sofa and signed quickly. "What happened?"

Peter threw his hands into the air. "No idea!"

"About what?" Sylar reappeared holding two plates filled with steaming waffles drenched in maple syrup. He frowned at the two of them. "Table. Sit."

Emma sank into one of the newly acquired dining room chairs and Peter reluctantly did the same, keeping his eyes fixed on his unusually ebullient roommate.

"Now I already put maple on and it's the good stuff, I flew to Jakeman's in Ontario this morning. But I also have sugar and can whip up eggs if you're not in a sweet mood. Or bacon. Did you want bacon?" He turned to go back into the kitchen. "I can get bacon."

"I don't want bacon," Peter blurted.

"Oh," Sylar spun back. "Juice? Coffee?"

"Valium?"

Sylar ignored him. "Emma, coffee?"

"Please," she said around a mouthful of the best tasting waffles in the universe. "I want coffee."

"Coming right up," Sylar gave her another blinding smile and scuttled back into the kitchen.

She eyed the door and then frowned at Peter. "Did you drug him?"

Peter scoffed. "No. He was like this when I got back last night. It took him an hour to come down off the ceiling." Peter rolled his eyes. "Literally. He was flying around the light fixtures, it made me dizzy just to look at him. Freaking Peter Pan."

Emma found herself grinning at the picture of Sylar as Peter Pan flitting around the room in tights. "Has he said why he's so happy?"

"He," Sylar said coming back into the room brandishing a coffee mug, "is high on life."

"iHe/i has probably been inhaling paint fumes, Isaac Mendez's power comes out at weird times." Peter pointed his fork at Sylar. "Don't think I haven't noticed your canvas habit, pal."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Don't think I care. Painting is relaxing. As is making muffins."

Peter shook his head. "There is something seriously wrong with you. I'm gonna call Parkman and ask him to do an exorcism."

"That's priests not cops."

"The AA thing?"

"That's intervention."

"I thought that was a nerd gathering."

"That's a convention." Sylar grabbed his own coffee mug. "You're not gonna destroy my mood, Peter."

Peter thought for a moment. "Naked Noah?"

Casually and with all the time in the world Sylar leaned over and clipped Peter's ear.

"Ew and," he paused considering, "nope. Still happy."

"Freak," Peter said in disgust. "So what's got you looking like the cat that got the cream? You won the lottery?"

Sylar inclined his head. "Yes and no."

"You're the new America's Top Model?"

"You need to watch less crap, Peter."

"Fine. You found out that they sell Mars Bars at the corner shop?"

Sylar's eyes widened. "They do?"

"No."

"Asshole."

"You've been exonerated?"

"No."

"Excommunicated?"

"Probably."

"Drugged?"

"No."

"Laid?"

"No."

Emma cocked her head as she stared at Sylar and then burst into a grin. "Claire."

Sylar's own grin grew. Peter looked between the two of them.

"Claire?" He slapped himself upsides the head. "Of course, what turns big bad Sylar into a pushover? A tiny blonde cheerleader." He smiled. "So what did she do to make you so happy- no, wait-"

Emma rolled her eyes as Peter suddenly seemed to remember who Claire was.

"Hey, dude! That's my niece."

Sylar just shook his head. "How in the hell did you ever pass any sort of exam?"

Peter pointed at him. "No changing the subject. What did you do with Claire?" he paused, rethinking that, "actually is this something that I don't wanna know about in case I ever have to face her father?"

"Relax," Sylar gripped his coffee mug and sank into the chair opposite. "She called me yesterday because she had to quit her job in a hurry."

"Why?"

Sylar opened his mouth to tell him but paused. Since he had been living with Peter he had kept no secrets at all. In fact his whole relationship with Peter was based on total honesty and there was nothing that he wanted to do to break that. But the attempted rape was Claire's secret. She'd called him so there was some doubt that she even wanted her uncle to know about it, she had been adamant about Peter not being inconvenienced this close to his wedding. But Sylar couldn't, in all good conscience, keep something this important from Peter.

He gnawed at his lower lip and blinked once at Peter. "It's not my story to tell, Pete. She was in a bad situation and needed to get out. She'll have to tell you the rest."

Peter's brow furrowed as he stared at Sylar, reading the conflict and guilt in his face. He nodded slowly and Sylar breathed a sigh of relief at his understanding.

"So she comes out and she needs someone, someone to help her deal with things," he took a deep breath, his lips curving, "and, get this, she calls me."

He sat back proudly.

Peter waited. "Yeah?"

"Claire Bennett calls i_me/i_. Her own personal boogey-man. The guy she'd rather stab in the eye than kiss, Claire called me for help." He raised his eyebrows trying to impress on Peter just how huge of a deal this was. And it was a huge deal. All this time he had been trying to get Claire to see him as a man; a flawed man, but not the terror from her nightmares or the murderer from her dreams. He would have been happy with her just acknowledging him- well, he would have tried to be happy with that. What he had hoped for but never expected was that one day they could become friends.

Anything else was just his fantasy.

But she had called him. When she was in trouble she had thought of him as someone who would help her; someone who could be relied upon; someone that she wanted to help her.

It was enough to make him giddy and he found himself with that shit-eating grin that annoyed Peter so much.

But on this occasion it was Peter who was grinning. "Way to go, pal. One quick question, not to rain on your parade or anything but why didn't she call me or Emma?"

Sylar shrugged. "She said that you both had so much on with the wedding and everything that she really didn't want to worry you anymore."

Emma touched his arm, bringing his attention back to her. "What happened to Claire when you arrived?"

"She told me what was wrong, allowed me to help her and-" he paused for effect "-she kissed my cheek and said I was her hero."

"Ouch!" Peter clutched his chest. "I've been replaced. I used to be her hero."

"So, she upgraded." Sylar pointed to Peter's plate. "If you're not going to eat that-"

Peter gripped his plate and held his fork like a weapon, just daring Sylar to take his waffles.

Sylar shook his head at Peter's antics as he refilled his coffee mug. "Sylar the hero, has a nice ring to it don't you think?"

"Better than 'Sylar Oh god don't hurt me'."

He nodded. "Yeah, that was a bitch to write on the tax return."

"You did tax returns?"

Sylar stared at Peter who had the decency to look ashamed of that sentence.

"Do people really put their life in your hands? Are they all crazy?"

Peter cocked his head. "Just those with a brick wall in their head."

"Boys!" Emma held up her hands. "You are giving me a neck ache. Like tennis," she motioned between them and they apologized. "It's nice that Claire sees Sylar as a hero. I am glad you're happy."

"Thank you, Emma. And I am happy. She's starting to come around. I just wish that there was more that I could do for her. I offered her money but," he shrugged, "she doesn't want that kind of help from anyone."

Peter chewed thoughtfully. "Well, she's gonna need a new job."

"I was thinking of asking her to come work with us," Emma signed after getting Peter's attention. "She is good at organizing and we could do with someone taking care of paperwork." She pointed at the boxes of files that Peter still had littering the floor. He had been intending to take them into the office for days now but, like all things to do with the administration side, he had let it slide.

His office looked like a library sale with piles of paper everywhere. He said that he could find anything at a moments notice but he'd never cared to test that.

Sylar desk, however, was meticulously ordered and neat; something Emma continually pointed out.

She hadn't realized that her sweet heroic Peter was actually such a slob.

"Would Claire accept a job with us?" Peter asked, trying to ignore the hopeful gleam in Sylar's eye. "I mean, if she told Sye that she wanted to do it all by herself then maybe she'd think of it as charity."

Emma rolled her eyes. "It's all in the way you ask, Peter. I'll ask Claire if she could help out until she finds herself a new job. She'll want to help me and then eventually she'll see how much better things are and want to stay."

"You can make her do that?" Peter looked at Emma in alarm. "That's sneaky. You're sneaky. I'm marrying a sneaky woman!" his eyes narrowed. "What sort of things have you made me do that I wouldn't have done?"

Emma gave him a smug smile. She held her thumbnail up to her lips and tapped twice against her mouth. "Secret."

Peter flicked his gaze to Sylar. "She's sneaky."

"I noticed. She's also right. Claire will be more than happy to help out if she thinks it's a favor and not a handout." He sat back. "Why do we go for women with a stubborn streak?"

"Excitement," Peter grabbed Emma's hand and kissed her knuckles. "So when are you gonna see Claire?"

"I'm actually late. I'm meeting Claire to talk about table decorations," Emma signed, "We're picking the equipment up today and putting them together.."

Sylar opened his mouth to inquire about the logistics and exactly what the table decorations were but Peter, anticipating both the question and the possible length of the answer booted him under the table, shaking his head.

Emma slid the last of her waffle into her mouth and slid away from the table. She pressed a kiss to Peter's cheek and then slapped his head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"I'm deaf," she said, "not blind. I saw that."

She grabbed her handbag from the chair and leaned over to kiss Sylar's cheek.

"Thank you for breakfast, Sylar."

"You're welcome, Emma," he waved as she left the apartment and shut the door. He turned back to Peter who had a goofy lop-sided grin on his face.

Sylar could empathize with that. He had friends, he had Peter; a job he liked and Claire thinking of him as a hero. Life was almost perfect.

Sylar watched him for a long moment and then leaned forward.

"Happy Peter?"

"Oh yeah."

Sylar inclined his head. "Naked Angela."

Peter did a double take and the smile dropped off his face. "What? Dude! EWW!"

Sylar just sat back, ignoring Peter's spluttering and enjoyed his coffee. Yep, life was good.

–

What was it about coffee shops that invited introspection, Claire wondered as she stared down at her latte. It seemed almost ingrained that as soon as that Styrofoam cup was placed in a persons hand their brain decided to reassess all of their choices and point out the flaws in their life plan.

And Claire was no different, no sooner had the aroma of strong Aztec coffee swept her taste buds into a frenzy than she began musing on exactly what was going wrong in her life.

She was a freak of nature who wasn't likely to age or die at any point in the future, she had government agencies after her and a drop of her blood could change the course of human history.

Oh and and she was unemployed and the only visible means of support she had was thanks to an ex-serial killer turned knight errant.

Claire nibbled her thumb nail.

Sylar.

He had been a savior in more ways than one. When she'd dialed his number she hadn't been thinking straight, hadn't really been thinking at all. All she'd really wanted was a familiar face and someone to take her home.

What she'd needed and hadn't even realized was protection. The invulnerable girl had been scared, scared out of her wits. For the first time since she'd realized the truth about her ability she'd been worried for herself. Not because she might die but what she might be forced to live through.

Claire had been shot, burned, tortured and electrocuted but physical pain was nothing. The emotional pain of rape was something very very different. She might be impervious to pain but not to that and when her boss had pinned her down and she'd realized what he had intended, Claire had been scared.

And she'd run away. Even now she couldn't quite believe that the feisty cheerleader who'd smashed her trophy into a serial killer's head would just up and run from a sleazy line manager, it wasn't like her at all.

But then there was a world of difference between braining Sylar and attacking a 'normal' if disgusting man. For one if she'd have killed Sylar she would have got a medal and her dad would have cleaned it up. If she'd have killed Dirk she might be spending half of her eternity in jail.

So she'd run and beat herself up over the choice and felt so damn low.

Then Sylar had arrived.

She'd asked him to help her get her things back and he'd done so much more. He'd shown her that she needn't be scared, that there was someone who could and would step in to help her. Sylar had taken the threat and eradicated it. He'd gained her some money to help tide her over and allowed her to make her own choices in what happened.

Instead of stepping in and stepping over her like her father would have done, or smothering her like Peter would have done, Sylar followed her directive and allowed her both her pride and her independence whilst still ensuring that she be safe.

If it were possible to love Sylar then she would have loved him for that. But of course she could never love him, wouldn't that be ridiculous?

Claire sipped her drink and allowed a smile to play around her lips at the thought. Being in love with him would mean forgiving him for everything that he'd done to both her and her family. Forgiving him for tearing into her head and terrorizing her and killing Nathan and Meredith and Jackie- and wasn't that exactly what she had done when she decided to give him a second chance at being a better person?

She'd forgiven if not forgotten what he'd done and accepted that it might take him a while to become the kind of person she could call friend. Except, once again, she had called him friend. She liked him, genuinely liked Sylar for the person he was now. She'd put her trust in him and he hadn't failed.

Claire frowned at her cup. Sylar hadn't let her down. The thought ricocheted around her head with all the force of a freight train, the packet of sugar she'd been readying to dump into her coffee spilling all over the table.

In her world that was almost unheard of. Everyone let her down eventually in one way or another, either by not being there or not being who she wanted or needed them to be.

Sylar had been exactly who and what she'd needed. Like always.

When she'd needed him to stay away, he'd done just that, letting his attraction to her fade into the background.

When she needed him to stand up to her or for her he was there, at her side.

He'd never lied to her and never let her down and she was frightened of the connotations of that.

Everyone kept throwing hints about the two of them being together for eternity and, as she got to know him, it no longer scared her as much as it had.

Eternity with Sylar would be... interesting.

Claire suddenly realized that she was drawing a heart in the sugar that she scattered all over the table and it was enough to jolt her back into reality.

What the hell was she thinking?

Claire rubbed her face. God she must be more tired than she thought of she was trying to think Sylar like that.

That way lies badness and she was conversant enough in mental illnesses, having been around the Petrellis, to know that she was treading a fine line.

What she should be thinking about was not the romantic love life of a serial killer but the very real prospect of the unemployment line.

Claire Bennett unemployed denizen of New York city, a land where a coffee habit could be just as expensive as an apartment. What the hell could she do? She'd tried to work in an office and that way led to boredom and the desire to slice bits of her anatomy off just to get a day off.

Possibly not healthy.

"Maybe I could sell bits of me on the black market," she muttered, staring at her hands.

"I don't think I read that right," Emma's voice came from in front of her and Claire looked up to the confused face of her friend.

Emma slid into the seat opposite. "Did you say who wanted to sell your black bits?"

Claire laughed, the dark cloud that had been following her suddenly vanishing.

"I was wondering what job I could do to make money. I was going to sell bits of me on the black market." She explained slowly. Peter had asked her to take sign language lessons with him and she had but there were some things that basic ASL courses didn't cover.

"Ah!" Emma nodded in pretend understanding. "A walking donor. Sylar said you had resigned."

The understatement made her eyebrows raise. "Resigned?"

Emma frowned. "Is that not right?"

"Sort of, it's complicated."

"How so?"

"My boss was a letch and kept trying it on and I just thought that I had to deal with it, I mean it's a job, right, you have to put up with crap to make ends meet and I just assumed that he was your standard horndog. I didn't think he'd actually do anything until he did do something and then I felt too much of an idiot to do much more than run outta there like a coward and—"

Emma waved her hands in front of Claire, cutting off her runaway mouth.

"I didn't get any of that." She signed apologetically. "Your boss was a leach who crapped in a dog?"

Claire burst into giggles and Emma found herself smiling at the delighted expression on Claire's face. That was much more like it. When she had walked in she could see that Claire's mood was taking a swan dive and she was willing to try anything to get the girl to smile. Claire had been a real life saver for her and she had never really had a friend as close as the young girl. She only wished that she could see Claire as happy as she and Peter were... preferably with Sylar, although Claire would deny that she could ever be happy with him.

"Better," she approved, "your boss tried to assault you?"

Claire calmed down and explained what happened ending with the jerk racing down the street with soaked pants and the fear of god. Or of Sylar.

"He was great," Claire said, a soft smile that Emma only wished Sylar could see. "Really, Ems, he just stepped up to the plate and delivered."

"So he's not so bad?" Emma teased, reminding Claire of every conversation that they had ever had of the man.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Not totally evil. But it does mean that I have no job."

Emma shifted. "What can you do? Other than eviscerate yourself?"

"I can type, I can file, I can use the computer fairly easily." Claire gnawed her lower lip. "I can make coffee and work the fax and photocopier. I can organize and prioritize."

"I wish I could," Emma sighed heavily and looked down at her coffee.

"What is it?" Claire reached out to cover her friend's hand, concern in her voice. Emma was usually so happy and upbeat that it was worrying to see her despondent.

"The wedding is taking over so much and I have little time now to do everything. Have you noticed Peter's apartment is looking more and more like a fire hazard?"

Claire nodded sympathetically. "Yeah I did. He swears he can find everything."

Emma shook her head. "He's just being nice. I can't keep up. For everyone we find there is a pile of paper to go with them. Invoices, documentation, medical research and notes. When it was just the three of us it was fine. Sylar found them, Peter met with them and I did the blood work. Now we have a full office and staff and it's great but it's all out of hand," she raked a frustrated hand through her hair. "I just don't have the time."

"Really?" Claire bit her lip. "I didn't realize the operation had gotten so big."

Emma nodded. "Noah helps us find them and Sylar and Peter meet with them to find what they need. Some go to Josephville and some want to stay at home but most need counseling and comfort in science. I do a lot of the blood work with Mohinder's help via satellite link up. I have a staff to help me and a full medical facility for specials who get hurt and can't go to hospital. We have six other pairs who go to different countries finding specials abroad. Empaths to help with those who struggle and carers for abandoned children. It's getting bigger everyday and there is so much to do. Plus the wedding and I'm tired." Emma sagged and rubbed her her forehead. "I need to sort Peter's apartment and put those papers in order and set up some system but I'm too busy."

"Or you could hire someone," Claire suggested, twitching in her seat.

Emma gave her a doubtful look. "Who'd want that job?"

"I would."

Emma blinked, her face carefully blank. "You?"

Claire nodded and shifted to the edge of her seat. "I just told you I can type and I can file and I can sort out paperwork like a champ. I could help out, I mean at least until after the wedding when you're less stressed about it all."

"But I thought you wanted to stay away from all this," Emma pointed between them to incorporate everything 'special'. "I thought you wanted a normal life?"

"And look how well that's turned out for me," Claire said somewhat sardonically. She leaned forwards intently. "I can help, Emma. I may not be the most qualified person in the world but I can do the job, let me prove it to you."

Emma let a smile cross her face. "Can you start tomorrow?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter new

Gabriel had been a push-over, it had to be said- or rather it didn't have to be said because it was evident in every breath he took.

It had taken him until he was almost thirty before he got enough courage to move out of his mother's place and that was only after several rather long talks with himself about the subject (and one embarrassing incident with a toilet door that didn't quite bolt down and opened without a creak- something that was never, ever, EVER, mentioned in the Gray household again).

He had been bullied at school and taunted and teased by pretty much everyone there. He'd done homework for idiots and had to take packed lunches since so much of his money was stolen. Then as he'd grown, he'd got taller and they were less likely to take their anger out on him in flesh and more likely to just take what they wanted.

Yeah, Gabriel Gray had been a pushover. He'd allowed Elle and Noah to use him, he'd allowed Chandra to push him aside, call him ordinary and normal and then he'd snapped.

Sylar was a completely different animal. He'd learned from good old Gabriel's mistakes and knew how to stand his ground, and take everyone else's.

Sylar was never taken advantage of (except by Angela Petrelli and everyone knew how that turned out, and wondered how it was that she was still breathing- they put it down to either Angela's amazing roadrunner ability to defy death, or that Sylar was playing with his food). He was also most assuredly not a push-over in any sense of the word and was not about to be swayed by a pretty pair of brown eyes.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

He folded his arms and stared resolutely ahead. No. No way. He'd made up his mind about this and there was no way he'd be swayed by anything that anyone said or did so she could jus-

he looked down.

Emma placed her hand on his arm and did something with her lips that made it look like she was seconds away from bursting into tears. Her eyes widened dramatically and a single tear welled up.

His heart clenched as she fluttered her eyes once and that big fat tear swelled up onto her lashes, hovering threateningly.

"Bu-But," he stammered but it was no good. One sniff and he folded quicker than a pack of cards.

"Okay, fine."

Emma beamed, the tear magically disappearing.

"Thank you."

He scowled menacingly at her but she just smiled happily at him. He traced the track on her cheek where the tear had sat and shook his head in bewildered fascination.

"That is one useful ability," he murmured.

"Very," Emma reached behind her back and pulled out a silky scrap and his impressed look faded.

"Give me the damn thing," he growled and snatched the odious piece of material off her. He stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

He leaned against the jamb heavily and gave the offensive piece of silk a glare designed specifically to incinerate it. If he wished it, this... abomination could go up in a wisp of smoke and no one would ever see it again. No one could force him to wear it.

Unless Emma started crying again.

Why was it that he couldn't bear to see her cry? She was Peter's fiancee, not his. Her well being was more Peter's outlook, so why did his gut clench when those tears came out, even though he knew they were fake?

He'd had women cry in front of him before, cry, scream plead for their lives and it had never affected him (other than to make him grin and he was in therapy for that particular quirk- as soon as he found a therapist who wouldn't have him sectioned and sentenced. So really therapy was going to be a while in coming.)

Damn this whole friendship thing, it was turning him back into Gabriel. He should just storm out there, throw it in her face and say no.

Okay, she would get scared and cry even more and for real this time and Peter would never speak to him again but surely he didn't like his friend that much?

This much? Really?

He thought of Peter's disappointed face, of Emma's sad one and Claire's I-told-you-he-hadn't-changed face and gave in.

He covered his face and groaned out loud before pushing himself away from the door and heading for the closet.

"Okay, I'm coming out," he called and then kicked himself as he realized that Emma wouldn't be able to hear him. He sighed and opened the bedroom door only to be greeted by three grinning faces.

"Well, I'll be damned," Claire said with a broad grin, "you actually got him to wear it!"

"I thought for sure he'd rather kill you," Peter said in amazement.

"What?" Sylar folded his arms across his chest defensively.

"I never thought she'd wear him down." Claire shook her head. "I figured him for more staying power."

"That's my girl," Peter brought a grin up to hide his smirk, but it was way too late.

"What?" Sylar growled.

Emma put her hands on her hips. "I win, pay up."

Sylar's jaw dropped as Claire and Peter both fished in their pocket for a couple of dollars and pressed them into Emma's waiting hands. She pocketed her winnings with glee.

"You bet on me?" His voice squeaked as it got higher.

"Dude, I never thought you'd actually cave," Peter walked forward with a laugh. Sylar was not amused, his gaze could have melted Peter on the spot.

There was a flash and for a panicked second Sylar wondered if he'd lost control and actually flash-fried his best friend but the glare faded and he saw Claire tuck her phone into her pocket.

"I am so keeping that," she giggled.

"Claire!"

Sylar had enough and reached down, ripping the lemon yellow cummerbund from around his waist and yanking at the yellow bow tie. He held both pieces of material in his hand and they went up in flash of light and a puff of smoke.

"Aww," Peter said. "You looked so cute in that."

"You," Sylar growled pointing his finger at Peter, "are dead to me."

"Sure things, pal," Peter grinned. He knew Sylar didn't mean it and the annoyed look on his face only made him grin harder. "Revenge best served chilled, isn't that what you say?"

"No," he corrected, dusting his hands off, "I say Pinot Noir should be served chilled, revenge is best served bloody and and screaming. Care to try that one?"

"Relax," Peter shot him a lopsided smile. "It was a joke."

"Hah freaking hah."

"You know canary yellow accessories aside," Claire said thoughtfully. "It is actually a good look for you." She flushed slightly and all of the argument went out of Sylar as he spied the tinge of pink.

"Really?"

Claire shrugged one shoulder. "I always thought guys look great in tuxes."

And of course, Sylar looked better than most.

He looked handsome, sexy even and she was having a hard time keeping her tone playful. Damn Amanda and Tracey!

They had picked up a few friends and come over to Emma's the night before to talk about the finer details and ended up rip roaring drunk trying to get Emma to relax. Somehow the conversation turned to sex.

_i"Toliver makes fire," Amanda offered, talking about her new boyfriend, "that's pretty cool. He keeps, like, a million candles by the bed and wham, instant romance."_

"_Cute," Dani grabbed some dip. "I always wanted to try Nakamura."_

"_Hiro?" Claire squeaked. _

"_Hell yeah, the guy can freeze time and slow it down. Wanna know what it's like to be stuck in the big O for an hour?"_

"_Oh god, I can't hear this!" Claire looked half fascinated and half horrified which, to be fair, was pretty much how she felt. Whilst she prided herself on being open-minded and even enthusiastic about the integration of powers into mainstream life she had never sat down and tried to figure powers into the bedroom._

_Clearly she was in a minority. God, these women should be writing fan fiction._

"_How about telepathy- know exactly where to touch. Hello Freddy Marr."_

"_Matt Parkman. Telekinesis, don't have to use the hands."_

"_Jackson. Body manipulation, touch everywhere simultaneously."_

"_Eli, complete ass but multiple copies?"_

"_Hell yeah."_

"_Right there with ya."_

"_Kinky yet monogamous."_

"_What about you, Claire?" Amanda asked suddenly. "Who would you like to bed?"_

"_I-," she swallowed, "I've never thought about it."_

"_Really?" There was patent disbelief from every one in the room._

"_Never?" Emma shifted to look at her. There was curiosity in her eyes as much as a challenge._

"_You were a teenager, right?" Tracey scoffed and Claire felt her hackles rise._

"_I spent most of my teen years on the run from people who wanted to kill me or experiment on me," she said coldly, "not much time for fantasies."_

_Her icy words turned the mood slightly and she felt guilty for being a downer._

"_I kinda fancied Peter before I knew he was my uncle," she offered as recompense and Emma giggled._

"_I think he liked you too," she signed, "then he said it got icky."_

_Claire laughed. "That it did."_

"_So no one?" Amanda pushed. "But you, like, have a line to hottie central. You must have wondered. Ando, Suresh, Bradley, Simon, hell even Evan is cute if you squint."_

_Claire shook her head. "Sorry."_

"_Maybe good guys don't do it for Claire," Dani leaned forward. "It's the bad boys, right? Flint?"_

"_Also my uncle," Claire pointed out._

"_Ok so, Adam? Knox?" _

"_No."_

"_Eddie? Quinn?"_

"_Sorry. No."_

"_Sylar."_

_Claire choked on her wine. "What?"_

_Tracey raised her glass to her knowing smile. "Every power, every danger, every fantasy. Sylar is pretty much the quintessential bad boy."_

"_Not anymore" Emma pointed out._

"_Even better; a redeemed bad boy," Tracey shivered. "The best kind."_

_Claire looked around the room in amazement as not one woman seemed to share her shock. _

"_Seriously. Sylar?"_

"_We're not dead, honey," Tracey rolled her eyes. "He is one fine specimen."_

"_Sex on legs," Devon drained her glass. "Those bedroom eyes."_

"_The arms," Dani sighed. "Strong muscular masculine arms."_

_Amanda giggled. "Ass. Fine ass."_

"_Sylar is very attractive."_

"_Emma!" Claire's eyebrows rose. _

"_I'm deaf, not blind," she signed. "I love Peter but Sylar is handsome."_

"_It's the voice that gets me," Amanda shuddered. "the way it rolls from his throat is like satin in a storm."_

_Claire's eyebrows stayed high as she sipped her tequila. "Poetic."_

"_Plus mom always said that he was a great potential fuck."_

_The tequila sprayed everywhere. _

"_Oh god, your mom!" _

_Amanda grinned at Claire._

"_Sure, Samuel had her seduce him into staying, mom said he was great the first time but he did kinda have amnesia so he was like a kid in a candy store, wanted it all."_

"_My brain!"_

"_The second time was when he was getting back as Sylar and he had...uh, performance issues."_

"_Your mom told you this?" she was incredulous. Okay she spoke with Sandra and even Meredith about boys but she wouldn't have given them details or asked them about their sexual partners. Was she the most innocent person on the planet?_

"_Sure," Amanda shrugged. "No big deal."_

_Something poked Claire. "Uh, didn't Sylar kill your mom?"_

_Amanda nodded. "Yeah. He came back to apologize and I screamed and hit him with a crowbar. He bled, he crawled. We got over it. Besides he's not the only one who's killed," she looked away, "whoever is without sin cast the first stone and all that."_

"_Okay, okay," Claire shook her head, trying to get images of Lydia and Sylar out of her brain, "so why did none of you ever go for him? I mean, he's single. If he's such hot property why have none of you dated him?"_

"_A couple of reasons," Tracey said, "first, and I'm not ashamed to admit this- he still scares the crap outta me."_

"_Me too."_

"_And me."_

"_Me three."_

"_Hell yeah, shit scared."_

"_Second, there is such a thing as biting off more than you can chew. He has a temper, he was a murderer, I hear he has 'issues'. Baggage like you wouldn't believe. Hot but psycho, even as redeemed as he is, honey he's more man than I could handle."_

_Claire stared at Tracey's suddenly sombre face._

"_He's a good guy," she said slowly, almost as if the words were being dragged out of her. "Sylar may have had his problems but he's trying."/i_

Right now she was trying to ignore the snug fit of a well-defined jacket and tuck her hormones back in where they belonged. Damn Tracey!

She swallowed and turned back to Peter and Emma who hadn't noticed her lingering looks.

"Well we're gonna head out," Peter said suddenly. "We've got reservations."

"And I want you to clear out so I can get my hands on your stuff!"

There was an uncomfortable moment's silence and Claire flushed.

"I meant your paperwork, jeez!"

"Ah yeah, Emma said she hired you," Peter had the oddest smirk on his face. "You don't have to call me boss."

"I wasn't planning on it," she said sweetly.

Emma reached for his hand. "Peter, we have to go."

"Have fun," Claire said, "and when you get back all this-" she motioned around the piles of paper "-will be a bad dream."

Something about her voice made Peter freeze. His eyes widened. "Uh, maybe this isn't such a great idea, Emma-"

"Bye!" Emma ignored his protests and dragged him out of the apartment.

Claire grinned at the closed door and sighed happily as she rolled up her sleeves as she faced the table. Okay so time to get down to some serious organization.

She needed to separate the paperwork into work and personal and put Peter's bills and junk mail in a safe place so he could sort through that on his own. Then she needed, lets see, one pile for financial things- invoices, expenses and the like- and another for personnel kinds of files. Then she needed-

She turned and only just resisted the urge to scream.

Sylar was standing behind her, leaning against the door in a pose eerily reminiscent of the first time she'd really seen his face.

She'd been so engrossed in what she had to do that she'd forgotten that Sylar was even there.

How the hell she'd managed that was anybody's guess.

As she faced his little boy grin it occurred to her that this was the first time she'd truly been alone with him since... well, that was probably best not remembered.

She'd spoken to him alone in rooms but usually Peter or Emma were nearby and he'd flown to her rescue but that was outside in full view of the public.

Here and now they were as alone as they could be. The door was shut and no one would come if she screamed.

Something dropped in her stomach and she wasn't sure if it was fear or anticipation.

Anticipating what, she wasn't sure but the smile that flit around her face was hesitant and Sylar's face dropped on seeing it.

He messed with his cuffs and looked down.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Claire."

His voice was pained and Claire felt like she'd just kicked a puppy. A Rottweiler puppy that could turn at any minute but a puppy nonetheless. Sylar all but kicked his feet against the carpet and she bit her lip.

"I know that."

He shivered slightly and gave her a disapproving look. "Inbuilt lie detector."

It was on her tongue to ask how he got i_that/i_ ability and how was that supposed to make her feel safe but she stopped herself. Recriminations and screaming might be awesome therapy and, possibly, even needed to be addressed at some point down the line but not today.

She sighed heavily and moved towards the table. "Okay, Logically I know that. Emotionally it's kinda instinct. Old habits die hard... harder than us anyways."

She offered him a small smile as compensation and he took it gratefully.

"To be honest, I'm amazed sometimes that you can be in the same room as me without screaming."

"Honestly, sometimes so am I."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, staying by the door frame and hunching his shoulders. "Claire, I am sorry for what I've done to you. You have to know that."

Claire trailed her fingers over one of the piles of paper on Peter's desk and didn't look up. "Are you?"

Sylar blinked, his head snapping up to stare at her back. "What?"

"Are you sorry, really sorry. Do you regret what you did? Regret killing Meredith and Nathan and Jackie and everyone else? Regret taking my ability, stalking me. Are you really sorry?"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter

"Are you really sorry?"

Sylar opened his mouth to say that Yes, of course he was sorry. Yes of course he regretted taking so much from her and, of course, he regretted making her life a misery... but the words stuck in his throat.

Was he sorry?

Truly sorry?

Nathan and Meredith had both been dangerous to Claire. Meredith was unstable and willing only to look after number one, despite what she told Claire, and Nathan was a self-serving hot-headed jerk without the common sense the good lord gave a piece of navel lint. He'd left her and her mother, kidnapped her, abandoned her, rounded her up, made her a target and nearly killed her all in the name of keeping her safe. She had been better off without the egotistical prick and the only thing Sylar was sorry about was that it had caused her so much pain.

He was unwilling to admit that he had no idea who Jackie was and probably wouldn't care even if he did. Just another face in a long line of people he murdered.

Did he regret stalking her? No, it allowed him to learn more about her, it allowed him to be a part of her life and get close to her and have her open up to him- even if he was wearing another body at the time. Did he regret taking her ability?

"No." he said softly. "I'm not sorry."

Claire tensed. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

"I thought I was," he continued slowly, leaning his head against the frame as he stared at her back. "I want to be. I want to regret that I hurt you and that part I do. I wish there was some other way that I could have taken your ability-" like the way he had taken Lydia's, for example "-but I'm not sorry I have it. And in three hundred years times, Claire, I'm hoping that you'll be glad I have it too. I wanted your ability as the perfect cure to all ills. Impervious, unbreakable, immortal. I wanted to take what I wanted without getting hurt. The most powerful man on the planet."

"You were an immortal President," Claire pushed the words through her clenched teeth, "I think you succeeded."

His eyes ran over her. "Not even close. Claire, I took your ability for the wrong reasons then, I know that now. But if I had never met you until now. If this was our first meeting, I'd still take your power."

Tears welled in her eyes as she gripped the back of the chair. "Why?"

"So you wouldn't have to be alone for eternity." He breathed. "No one deserves that, least of all you. Even if you hate me for the rest of forever, I'll be here if you need me."

Claire whispered something that he didn't hear and he stepped away from the door frame and closer to the table.

She still stood with her back to him and he wished she would turn around so that he could see her face. He wanted to know what she was thinking and Claire was nothing if not an open book.

"Claire?"

Something fell and splashed on the table. Something small and wet.

His heart sank. "Oh, god, Claire, please don't cry."

She shook her head, more tears dripping onto Peter's papers.

"I don't hate you," she whispered again. "I wish I could. You took so much from me. I i_want/i_ to hate you so bad. I want to see Meredith's killer, but when I look at you I see Peter's brother. I want to see Nathan's murderer but I see Emma's champion and Hiro's best bud and Matt's beer buddy. I want to feel that burning anger when I look at you but all I see is the guy who made me laugh and who rescued my damn purse and I-" her voice caught "-do you remember the Stanton Hotel?"

He swallowed tightly and nodded, before remembering that she couldn't see. "Yes."

"I told you that I wanted to kill you, that I would spend the rest of my life trying to kill you. Then you killed Nathan. It hasn't even been ten years and ... I'm betraying their memories every time I look at you and don't want to kill you. I don't want you dead, Sylar. I don't want you dead." She finally turned to him, her eyes red.

"What does that say about me?"

He couldn't help it, anymore than he could help breathing. His hand reached out and cupped her cheek, his fingers trailing over the tears that trekked down her face.

"I think it says that you are so amazing that you could even think of forgiving your parents murderer. You are so strong, Claire. So full of light and life. Please don't cry." His own voice thick.

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry along with her.

He had thought that they were building bridges, he had thought that he was making progress with her only to have those thoughts derailed as she flinched away from being alone with him.

When he had heard her heart pounding with fear he wondered if his heart had actually broken.

He'd wanted to cry, wanted to stamp his feet and grab her shoulders, to shake her and remind her of what he had done, what he could do for her.

_iYou called me your hero. I was your hero. Please, god, don't take that back. I couldn't stand it if you took that back./i_

But then she'd stood her ground, she opened up and those shattered shards at his feet melted. She didn't hate him, she didn't want him dead. She didn't mind that he was going to be around with her for the rest of her life and beyond.

She saw him as more than just a murderer. She saw him.

She had been willing to give him another chance and that was worth more to him than even his own life.

"I won't let you down," he vowed, "I promise, Claire. I'll make it worth it. I will spend eternity making it up to you. I'll earn your forgiveness a hundred times over. If you just—" he grabbed her hands. "I'll be whatever you need."

...

Claire felt herself falling, vertigo swamping her even as she stood on firm ground. She knew what he was really asking and, for once, it was within reach. He wanted forgiveness, a chance to be a better man; for her to believe that he was a better man.

But the memories of his fingers in her brain, the menace as he told her to chose between daddy and granny, the way he'd smiled as Jackie screamed, were just as real to her as his hands on hers.

She pulled her hands away. "Can you be a handkerchief cuz I'm kind of gross up here." she pointed to her tear-stained face.

He watched her closely for a moment and then nodded, stepping back quickly and shoving his hands in his pockets again. With two strides he reached for the box of tissues on the mantlepiece and handed them back to her, his eyes falling away from hers as if too ashamed to meet them.

Claire couldn't help but feel for him. She knew he was trying, she had seen it time and again and all he asked for was a chance to prove it to her. All he wanted was for her forgiveness, her acceptance.

Was she brave enough to give him that?

"Sylar," she touched his hand. "I know you're trying. I know that you're a different person on the inside. But you have the same face as my nightmares. The same face as the guy who tormented me and ripped open my head and killed people I love and scared me. Sometimes I look at you and see the monster and other times just the man. The hero and the villain. I'm trying to put it past me but it will take time. It might take a while to reconcile the two but I wouldn't give up. I'm working on it."

The hurt expression faded as he watched her and she could see the tension bleed from his shoulders as he acknowledged her words.

"I could change my face," he offered hesitantly.

Claire's eyes widened. "God no. This one is way too cute to change. It's just a shame it belonged to a serial killer before it belonged to you, that's all."

His lips twitched as the tension melted from the room. "You think I'm cute?"

"Shut up," Claire rolled her eyes and pushed away from the table.

"Claire thinks I'm cu-ute!" he sang and she grinned.

"And a goofball. Now I have to get started and earn my paycheck." She glanced over the desk. "Peter is such a slob."

"I know. When we were stuck," he tapped his head, "he had the whole city and yet somehow managed to make it look more untidy just by being in it."

She laughed. "Scruffy chic. Nice."

She leaned over the table and started sorting through the paperwork on the desk, her forehead wrinkling as she divided them into different piles, her own system at work.

Sylar watched her for a long minute as she seemingly forgot that he was there.

"What would be most useful," Claire said suddenly, "all paperwork on one client together including invoices and contact or those details separate for security purposes?"

"Invoices separate," Sylar decided, "we rarely need those but contact details should really be kept with the original file."

"Gotcha," she shot him an absent smile as she further divided the piles.

Sylar sat on the edge of the table, propped up and intent on her.

He'd known that Claire was brave; it took a special kind of courage to stand in the face of danger and not hide until it went away. But today she had exceeded all his expectations. She hadn't hidden her fear, hadn't pretended that all was well but had told him that she was working on it.

She had given him what he had longed for for so long. Not forgiveness or acceptance. Not yet.

But hope.

Hope that one day she would look at him and just see the man.

No wonder he loved her. He only wished he could show her, tell her how much he adored her. He would be hers completely, her willing slave content to spend the rest of days devoted to her every need. She would want for nothing, she would always be happy and he would worship her.

Of course, given that half the time she saw him she remembered him stalking her and tearing off her scalp, that might freak her out a little.

This romance might have to be one sided for a little while longer.

But he would take what he was given and if that meant three hundred years of having to be content with just being in the same room then that was what he would do. Whatever it took.

He had time.

"Take a picture," Claire said.

He cocked his head. "Can I?"

"What?" she looked up in confusion.

"Can I take your picture?"

A smile played around her lips. "Why?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Why not."

"Knock yourself out."

He hurriedly filched Peter's camera from his room and snapped a few shots of her looking decidedly bemused. He put the camera down on the nearest surface to remind himself to get those printed out as soon as possible. Most men had pictures of the woman they loved in their wallet, why couldn't he? Even if Claire wasn't his wife.

He turned back in time to catch her quickly turn her suddenly flushed face away.

He blinked.

That was weird. Why would she be blushing? What could she have been staring at that made her bl-

Oh. Good. Lord.

Sylar's eyes widened as the truth hit him.

She had been looking at his ass.

Claire Bennet had been staring at his butt.

"Now can I please get back to work?" she asked, not knowing that he had seen her little slip.

He bit his lower lip. She'd already said he was cute and now she was checking him out. Maybe trying to win her love might be easier if she was … distracted. She'd told him not to give up after all, even if she hadn't been truly aware of what his goal was.

If she was attracted to him it would be easier to forgive him, to love him. It wasn't taking advantage it was … playing to his strengths.

Besides, just because he was willing to wait three hundred years didn't mean that he i_had/i_ to.

He was Sylar after all, not Gabriel Fricking Gray.

A plan filtered through his brain and he hid a grin.

"You know, since I know what's going on with these. I could help."

She blinked and it was obvious that that was the last thing that she expected. "What?"

"I can help."

"Uh okay. Sure."

"I just have to get a little more comfortable." He reached up and undid the buttons on his suit jacket very very slowly.

The deliberate movements had the desired affect and Claire's eyes snapped to his lean fingers as they slid the buttons out of the holes.

With a tiny grin he pushed the sides of his very fine, outrageously expensive, suit jacket aside and shrugged his shoulders. The soft material slid down his strong arms and, in one smooth move, he caught the jacket and threw it on the chair. Claire's eyes followed his fingers as they reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it and undoing the top button of his shirt.

Watching her as she watched him was doing all sorts of hot delicious things to him and what he really wanted to do was prowl over, drag her into his arms and show her how it felt to be draped over a hard object. His eyes darkened as she moistened her lower lip.

"Claire?" his voice deepened, arousal coloring his tone.

She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes away. "Y-yeah?"

Triumph and not a little male pride swelled in him. She'd looked at him. i_Looked/i. _ At him, like he was a man. He might not be able to read her mind but he could read her face and that expression had declared that she had noticed that one very fine male specimen was standing in front of her in Armani and shirt sleeves.

_iSee something you like?/i _The words longed to trip off his lips, but he held it back. The last thing he wanted to do was put her on the defensive; not when she was waking up, when he was finally making progress with her. That didn't mean that he couldn't have a little fun.

With slow languorous movements Sylar flicked the cufflinks at his wrists and started to fold his sleeves up, exposing his tanned forearms.

Claire's mouth dropped a little and her breath shuddered. A shiver slid up her spine and she deliberately turned on her heel and faced the table.

With her back to him Sylar let loose a full blown grin.

Oh yeah, he was making progress.

...

That should be illegal, Claire thought as she tried desperately to get her hormones under control.

Watching Sylar all but strip was both panty-meltingly right and horrendously wrong. He was her uncle's roommate, an ex-serial killer and completely bat-shit crazy; all perfectly sound reasons to ignore the fact that he was, without question, one of the sexiest men she had ever seen.

Damn those women and their non-stop talk about superpowers and sex, now all she could think about was grabbing him and tracing that open collar with her tongue, seeing if that five o clock shadow left marks when it was dragged over her chest and seeing if he tasted as smoky as he looked, if electricity sparked all over.

She gripped the chair back with clawed fingers.

Sylar was out of bounds.

Completely out of bounds.

And the sooner she got that into her head the better for everyone concerned.

He was suddenly close, far too close and leaning over the table next to her, his dark eyes perusing the table.

"So this pile is financial data?"

How, in the name of all that was holy, could he make such an innocuous sentence sound erotic? She

swallowed past the lump in her dry throat.

"Yeah. It needs to be put in alphabetical order by client surname and then by date."

"Gotcha," he slid into the chair by her side and pulled papers towards him, his long forearms stretching across the table. They were strong and muscled without being bulky and indicated a hidden strength that was beyond sexy.

_iHis arms, Claire. Really?/i_

So she apparently had a thing for arms. Who knew? She shook her head and edged around the table, grabbing files as she went. She sat across the table from him and tried to immerse herself in her work.

But that was easier said than done now she was aware of the man opposite. His head was down diligently working through the stuff that he had been given, his eyes intent and his brow furrowed in concentration, thick dark locks of hair slipping down his forehead to dance across those expressive eyebrows, his long fingers rifling through-

_iGood grief, she really needed to get laid./i_

It wasn't that she had never thought of Sylar as attractive before. In fact the first time she had been hit by that particular awareness was the first time she had seen him in the daylight up close and personal.

After everything that happened that year, Claire had no illusions that Sylar was dangerous but she hadn't really seen him, not really.

In the locker room of Union Wells, Sylar had switched off the lights and so he appeared only in shadow and, to be perfectly honest, she was so busy screaming and running that she never really saw his face.

The rest of that year she had been warned about him time and time and time again but no one had thought to show her a picture of the man who was out to decapitate her (or de-cranium, what was the word for someone who wanted to slice off the top of your head? Damn it, sidetracked.) so really he could have walked by her in the street and she wouldn't have known.

It wasn't until Kirby Plaza that she saw him again and that was, again, at night and in poor lighting and from a distance and (Scalped! That was it, he'd scalped her. And skulled- actually didn't that mean something dirty?), once again, she could have mistaken him for anybody.

She'd wondered what he looked like and had to go through her father's Primatech files when he was out just so that she could have a face to put to her nightmares.

The picture was grainy and out of focus taken whilst he was covered in blood mid slice, evidently from CCTV footage and, needless to say, wasn't flattering.

That was probably why, when he showed up in her house, standing in her bedroom doorway and leaning oh so casually against the door frame, it took her moment to place him. In fact her thought process had gone a little something like:

_i"Who the hell is- wow, he's cute, look at those eyebrows. Why is he staring like I should know who this sexy guy standing in my- holy god, that's Sylar!"/i_

Claire grinned to herself slightly. It was probably a good thing that he hadn't got Matt Parkman's ability then or she'd have saved him the trouble and died of embarrassment.

Then she'd been too busy running for her life to think about him like that. Even after the times he had suggested that they would be more than friends, even after the kiss that she refused to think about and the weirdness of having her face etched into... Claire frowned suddenly, her mind coming to a halt.

"Did it go away?"

Sylar blinked. "What?"

Claire pointed at his arm. "Did it fade?"

He looked down at the limb and then back up, a crease between his eyes. "I have, maybe, twenty abilities Claire, mind-reading isn't actually one of them. What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "My fa... your tattoo. Is it gone?"

...

Ah, that.

Yes. No. Sort of. Sylar gnawed on his lower lip and wondered exactly how to answer that.

Yes, technically the tattoo had gone, gone in the way that it was longer on his arm. Gone in the way that the ink had faded and the picture of her was no longer etched onto his forearm. In that sense then yes it was gone.

Gone in the way that whenever he tried to use Lydia's power Claire's face would appear over his heart. Then no. It wasn't technically gone. More... hidden.

"It's no longer on my arm," he said slowly, stretching it out across the table to show her the soft unblemished skin.

"Right," Claire stared at it for a long moment before shaking herself. "I didn't think it would last, I mean. We don't scar so how can we get a tattoo to stay?"

_iHow do we make love stay?/i_

Sylar just shrugged. "You cut your hair, your hair stays cut. You dye it it stays dyed. I guess any tattoo that wasn't put there by mystical means would stay."

"Like nail polish and my belly button ring-" Claire's eyes widened as she realized what she had just said and Sylar's grinned.

"You have a belly button ring?"

She blushed. "Yeah, call it a little act of rebellion. I wanted a bar but my regenerative body thinks its shrapnel or something and kept pushing it out. The ring is closed so my body accepts it, like my earrings."

"Huh." Sylar leaned forward, his lower lip between his teeth. "Show me."

"What?" Claire laughed uncomfortably. "No."

"There's just you and me here, go on."

Claire blushed harder at the low tone his voice had gathered.

"No." Claire crossed her hands across her mid section.

And suddenly there was nothing Sylar wanted more than to see that tiny piece of metal embedded in a tiny strong body that wanted to reject it. There was something sexy about the diminutive blonde staging a rebellion but keeping it to herself, it was so very like Claire. Although, to be honest, he thought that everything Claire did was sexy.

He smirked seductively. "Oh come on, Claire. People get piercings to show that they're cool or dangerous, what's the point of a rebellion if no one sees it?"

She nibbled her lip and he could tell that she was weakening.

"Cllairre." he whined. "Please."

His eyes danced with humor and she felt her lips curve at his teasing.

"Fine," she sighed and stood up, untucking her shirt from her jeans and lifting it.

Sylar stared at the long softly curved expanse of golden skin unmarred by scars, unmarred by lines or creases, untouched, soft and smooth except for one thick silver ring with a tiny charm dangling from it.

He leaned across the table and reached out a hand to touch the swinging charm. It was a tiny little top-hat. A smile curved his lips at the absurdity of it. A rebellion with a twist.

That was his girl.

He glanced up only to find her staring down at him, her eyes wide. He realized his position, relished the heat of her belly against the back of his knuckles for one more minute before dropping the charm and shuffling back into his seat.

"It's cute and not just a little hot. But a top-hat?"

Claire face flushed again. "Its a reminder."

"Of what?"

A sudden grin flooded her face. "That we're all mad here."

He couldn't deny that, not at all. After all he was an ex-serial killer who performed craniectomies on his victims and had spent five years trapped in his own head and now lived with the brother of a man he had killed and impersonated whilst pining for a girl he had scalped and tormented for years.

She was an indestructible ex-cheerleader with a penchant for jumping off buildings, sawing off limbs and was currently sorting financial data across from the man who had sawed her head open with his finger.

Mad?

Understatement.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter warning. There are a lot of swear words in this chapter. I don't usually swear, I think it's pointless and unnecessary but one of the characters is a teenage boy and, if you have spent any time with teenage boys, you'll know that profanity is pretty much a way of life. I've tried to keep it to a minimum but sorry if anyone is offended. I apologize in behalf of my potty mouthed character and say that he will be getting his mouth washed out with soap.**

One of the first things Sylar had actually insisted on was his own office. Not that he didn't enjoy spending time with Peter or having his dear friend close by, but after walking into his own office to find Peter and Emma in a somewhat compromising situation on more than one occasion he had demanded his own space.

There are some views of your room mate that you simply do not wish to see.

However due to necessity and expedience his office was located next to Peter's with a connecting door that was mostly kept open. Theoretically this was so that they could still speak about work, the reality was more a case of being able to insult one another without getting up.

Sylar quite liked having his own space, being able to decorate it as he saw fit and not being beleaguered by Peter's inability to clean up after himself.

Right now, though, he was delighted at his proximity to Peter's office because, if he leaned that way just slightly and tilted his chair like that, he had a perfect view of Claire bending over to put files away.

Claire had been into the office every day this week and it had been a delicious kind of torture every minute.

The first day she'd walked in wearing a short pencil skirt, pristine white shirt and black heels with those stocking things that had a line down the back.

Claire walked into the building.

Sylar walked into a wall.

The second day it was bright red heels and matching lipstick and the third day it was a gray jersey dress that clung to each and every curve.

Sylar seriously considered installing a shower in his office.

When Emma and Peter had told him that Claire would be working in his building with him every day he had hoped that this would bring them closer together. After all, Claire would see him everyday in a normal work setting, she'd get to see him as just another guy.

What he had failed to realize was that there were 'other guys' already at the office; ones who hadn't tried to pry open her skull; guys who were actually quite attractive and charming and special in their own way.

Guys who flirted with Claire.

Ben, for instance, had blond hair, big blue eyes and the ability to create music out of thin air. Whenever Claire walked by Ben fluttered his fingers and strains of something soft and sappy filled the air, making Claire blush madly.

The first time that happened Sylar broke his pencil.

The second time Ben's trousers mysteriously caught on fire.

Sean thought Claire was amazing but his blue skin made him very shy and unable to really approach her to talk to. He had taken to hiding around corners and staring wistfully at her.

In fact there didn't seem to be many guys who didn't do a double take whenever Claire walked by and it was driving Sylar slowly mad.

He knew that he could blow away the competition; but Peter had informed him that nuking his colleagues was against Health and Safety.

But right now most of the Specials were out on assignment or holed up in their own offices somewhere trying to avoid paperwork and Claire was diligently bending and stretching and doing something in Peter's office that make Sylar all kinds of happy.

The phone trilled by his side and he reached out, answering it without taking his eyes off the delectable scenery.

"Hello, Sylar speaking."

"Sy, it's Peter. I have a problem."

"She's your mother, you deal with her."

There was a moments silence and then:.

"But Sylar, pleeease?" Peter whined, "it wouldn't even take you that long. You could just, you know, point at her and poof."

Sylar sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not Harry Potter, Peter. With my abilities it wouldn't be 'poof' more 'boom'. And no matter how annoying, irritating, antagonistic, manipulative, destructive, iniquitous, frustrating-"

"Sylar!"

"-and amoral your mother is, I'm sure you'd miss her if I were to kill her. Although if I thought for one second that you'd actually let me..." Sylar settled back on his chair. "What's the evil bitch done now?"

"Made an appointment for me and Emma with Chef Pierre at the Hilton. Apparently he does the most to die for oyster pate and duck filled lima beans or something."

Sylar frowned. "How can you stuff a bean with a duck?"

"Why would you want to?" Peter's voice came over the phone flat and not amused. "She's driving me crazy, Sy. Emma's about ready to tear her hair out."

"If you will insist on allowing that woman to breathe," Sylar grinned, "what do you want me to do?"

"We're gonna need some serious down time tonight after spending the day with mom. We were wondering if you fancied a movie."

"You want me to go out?" Sylar frowned. He could take a hint, if they wanted the apartment all to themselves then he would go-

"No!" Peter said quickly. "I meant getting a movie in. We were thinking maybe ordering in and just vegging out, the four of us. What d'ya think?"

Sylar eyes widened. "The four of us? I'm hoping to god that you aren't including Angela in that."

There was another brief silence.

"Is Claire there?"

Sylar pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a second. How in the hell did Peter know that? Had he got a new ability?

"Yes," he said slowly, "how did you know?"

"Because whenever Claire is in the vicinity your I.Q drops about twenty points. If she's wearing something short and tight it's closer to fifty. In fact when she's in heels and skirt I'm surprised you remember how to walk and talk at the same time."

Sylar recalled his impromptu assignation with the wall and was silent.

"Anyway, dumbass, I meant you, me, Emma and Claire all coming over for a movie. It'll take my mind off my mother and give us all a much needed break."

"Sure, I'll mention it to Claire, see what she thinks." Sylar said with a smile, peering around the corner again. Claire was on her tiptoes, trying to reach the top of the filing cabinet. Her skirt was riding up the back of her legs.

He tilted his chair further back as she reached higher. Her left leg kicked back as she stretched, her heel pointing towards him.

Sylar hit the floor with a grunt.

"-Mfft, shit."

"Dude, did you just fall off your chair?"

He could hear Peter laughing on the other end of the phone.

"Shut up."

Peter laughed louder. "Oh man, that is awesome."

"Sylar?" Claire poked her head around the door. "Are you okay, I heard a noise."

Sylar very casually picked himself up off the floor and pointed to the phone. "Just a second."

She responded with a small smile and Sylar gave her a nod.

"So I'll want that paperwork on my desk soon and don't forget the correct signatories."

"She walked in and busted your ass, didn't she?"

"I'm gonna have to go."

Peter laughed again. "Okay, Sy, just remember walking and talking is a very specific skill set."

Sylar forced a grin. "I'll do that. You just enjoy your meeting. Bye."

He put the phone down and shrugged his shoulders at Claire. "Tough being the boss."

"I bet. So do you often call employees while sitting on the floor?"

Sylar would not blush. He would not blush. He was an ex-serial killer, they did not blush.

He gestured to his desk with an offhand expression. "Easier to reach those files in the bottom drawer."

"I know, right, your office is designed for very tall people or midgets and little in between." Claire leaned against the door frame. "I've been trying to reach the top shelves of stuff all day. Just because you can levitate and fly and stuff. Some of us don't have that advantage."

Claire smiled impishly at him and he felt himself melt.

"I could help, reach the top shelves if you like?"

"You're busy." She flicked a finger to his desk, also full of paperwork but nowhere near as messy as Peter's.

"It's a good kind of busy." He reached up and scratched the back of his head. "I like being useful."

"The way I hear it you practically run the place." Claire voice was gentle mocking, "Peter and Emma can't praise you enough. I'm beginning to think you've brain washed them."

He could tell that she wasn't serious and that she was trying to be more natural with him, more herself and he hugged it to himself even as he replied in kind.

His eyes twinkled. "With Peter that would take surprisingly little effort since there isn't much there to wash."

Claire laughed. "Oh, I am so telling him you said that!"

"You can tell him tonight, he wants a movie night, if you're up for it?"

Claire leaned against his desk with her hip and folded her arms. "Depends on who's choosing the movie. Peter has a weird fixation for chick flicks."

"Trust me, I know," Sylar shuddered, "I've seen _Sleepless in Seattle_ so many times I actually twitch when I see the Empire State building."

"You watch it with him?"

Sylar tapped the side of his head. "Five years and only one movie."

"My version of hell." Claire sighed. "Okay, I'll come along but if he forces us to watch anything with Meg Ryan I'm blaming you. Now I gotta get back to work, my boss is a slave driver."

Sylar gnawed his lower lip. "That he is, but even Peter is bound by laws. One hour for lunch. It's lunch time and we both need food." Sylar shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping that she wouldn't see the slight tremble as he gathered his courage. "You wanna go get something to eat? There's a great restaurant not far from here, does amazing Mexican."

He hoped that his voice didn't waver, hoped that she couldn't see the longing on his face.

_iPlease/i, _he thought_,i please give me this. Come eat with me. Willingly be in my company. Please./i_

But as her hesitation grew his heart sank.

He looked down at his feet.

"I'm not in the mood for Mexican," Claire said, and Sylar swallowed hard.

Right, of course not. Why would she want to eat with-

"But we could go somewhere else. I love Italian and Chinese. In fact, isn't there a decent Italian place a couple of blocks from here?"

His head shot up and he pinned her with an incredulous look.

Claire took a step back. "Okay, maybe not."

"No, no!" he insisted. "That's fine. That's great. I love Italian. I'll get my jacket."

Sylar turned on his heel and frowned at the empty chair where he usually slung his jacket.

Claire giggled.

"What?"

She pointed to his chest and, once again, Sylar had to remind himself that ex-serial killers didn't blush.

"It seems," he said brightly, "that I am actually wearing my jacket, so I'm good to go."

Claire gave him a small grin and headed towards the door.

Sylar enjoyed the view spectacularly for all of five seconds before the phone rang.

He rolled his eyes. "One second, Claire."

She paused at the doorway as he picked up the receiver quickly.

"I told you, dumbass, she's your mother. You deal with her."

There was a small silence and then a confused male voice said.

"Uh, Agent Sylar, sir?"

Ah. So not Peter then. Sylar winced. "Yeah, this is Sylar."

"This is Freddy from dispatch. We've just intercepted a 911 call about some guy trying to knock over a jewelery store who melted one of the stands with his hands."

Sylar looked from the receiver to Claire and then back again. "I'm … busy, can't someone else cover? Ian was around earlier."

"Yes sir, but the caller said that this guy is boasting that he roomed with a psychopathic killer and knew some tricks. We thought that your … uh, unique perspective might be useful here."

Unique perspective. That was one way of putting it.

Sylar bit his lower lip.

On the one hand he had the possibility of exposure and danger to the public which threatened their existence which, it appeared, he had the ability to deal with. It was his job, his mission and his purpose.

On the other hand Claire had just agreed to go for dinner with him.

He struggled with the decision for a full minute before finally his shoulders sagged.

"Where?"

The dispatch gave him an address and Sylar tried not to pout as he put the phone down.

Claire gave him a sympathetic look. "I guess we're not going out?"

"Rain check?" he said hopefully.

"Sure. I'll be seeing you tonight at Peter's anyway."

"Yeah. Sorry about this, but they said that it has to be me."

"It's fine." She turned on her heel and headed out, pausing in the doorway. "Uh, Sylar. This job you're going on, you will be careful, right?"

He blinked in confusion. "I can't get hurt, Claire."

"Yeah you can. One lucky shot to your sweet spot and … well, eternity would be kinda boring without you. Take care okay?"

A warm glow filled him at her words and he swallowed hard. "I will."

She bestowed him with another of her beautiful smiles and then ducked her head shyly, walking away and leaving him staring at the door with a goofy grin on his face.

The goofy grin was very much absent as Sylar landed on the tarmac outside the jewelry store. He touched down and straightened, his eyes scanning the area to make sure that no one- other than that very confused looking cat- noticed his arrival.

The myriad of cop cars out front with their sirens blaring and the cacophony of sound emanating from the crowds masked his scoff of amusement at the three ring circus this had become. Jewelry heist turned to hostage situation had all of the players coming out, from the FBI to the paparazzi all bleating and trying to get their fifteen minutes on camera.

It reminded him a little of the bank heist he'd attended with Bennet so many years ago, back when he had thought Angela Petrelli was his mother and that he had a shot at being redeemed and loved through family; back when Claire hated him only slightly more than he hated himself.

He didn't look back on those days with any kind of nostalgia.

Sylar saw someone walking by the entrance to the alleyway and darted back into the shadows.

It was all very well to say that humans were stupid and only believed what they wanted to see but there were too many unexplained phenomena happening these days, like governments rounding people up, relatives disappearing, i_Twilight_ /ibecoming a bestseller, for people not to realize that something questionable was going on.

Seeing a man drop from the sky and walk away would probably be more than a tiny hint that something was amiss.

But the shadow passed by and a small flash on blue assured him that it was nothing more than some ghoul catching a quick shot on their cell phone of the unfolding drama to post to the internet.

God bless the technological advances that made it possible for the victim's families to find out before the police.

He turned around and eyed the back door to the jewelers, marveling at the sheer arrogance that they had; in assuming that no one would be able to by-pass their security system they had opted for the simple and surprisingly ineffective metallic grille over a glass door.

Sylar snorted inelegantly and raised a hand.

In seconds the security camera was a very expensive lump of smoldering plastic and the highly secure metal grille was charred shrapnel.

He stepped over the smoking debris and pushed the back door with his finger; the heated glass simply melted away like caramel and slopped to the floor. He wrinkled his nose and tried to avoid stepping in it as he crossed the threshold.

All was quiet and he forced a sound barrier over his movements, smothering any noise that may have come from stepping on broken glass. He could hear voices coming from the front, one higher pitched and more insistent than the rest.

"-just shut up, I told you, I'm not kidding here."

"Please don't hurt me!"

"Stop crying you bitch!"

Sylar rolled his eyes. Elegant. Nothing says scary and in control like calling someone a bitch.

Unless you were Sigourney Weaver, of course.

He edged around the back door and closed his eyes, concentrating on one of his abilities. It was one he'd gained during his shopping spree before he'd tried joining forces with Danko. He'd picked it up from a homeless vagrant who had an English accent and smelled somewhat of pigeons. The man had walked into him on the streets of New York and tried to make off with his wallet. Sylar had followed the scent of him to a loft where he'd taken his ability and left the invisible corpse to fester unnoticed on the rooftops.

It was probably still there, rotting away and being eaten by those pigeons. The thought made him grimace.

With a small twinge of pain Sylar become invisible to the naked eye and walked into the main shop.

The scene was easy to read and more than a little predictable.

A woman with a smear of blood on her face sat against the counter, tears streaming down her face, tights laddered and mascara running, cradling her hand against her face. Clearly the sales assistant had pressed the alarm and had been slapped for her trouble.

The balding middle-aged man all but wetting himself in the corner was likely to be her manager, maybe even the owner who suddenly discovered that he wasn't as safe in his high-tech security shop as he thought.

The couple in on the floor, a much older guy and a blonde with high heels, fake tan and even faker fur had obviously been on a shopping trip to convince her that he really wasn't too old to be having sex and ooh look shiny!

The young girl being shielded by her mother looked to be around the 'first grown up earring' age and probably was wishing she'd asked for a pony instead.

The guy standing with his back to Sylar, waving his hand at the various hostages couldn't have been that much older than the girl. He still had that gangling awkwardness of adolescence and the high pitched voice that hadn't quite lowered it's register just yet.

He was also panicking as evidenced by the various puddles of steaming goo scattered around..

Sylar took a deep breath, obviously this guy was trigger happy and scared and probably in way over his head. This was one he'd have to handle very very carefully.

A loud screech from outside proclaimed that someone had found a loudspeaker.

"This is the New York City Police department," mumble mumble, "and the FBI. You can not escape this, we have you surrounded."

Sylar grinned. Really, people actually said that? Brilliant.

"You can come out now with your hands up, surrender and we'll take it easy on you."

"Yeah," the guy scoffed, "sure they will." He raised a hand to his forehead, wiping beads of sweat off. "I've seen what they do to people like me. I was almost one of 'em." He clenched his fists. "I won't be drugged and taken away! You can't put me on a plane or expect me to vanish. I won't. I WON'T!" He screamed and flashed his hand to the side.

A very nice plinth holding a 'for sale' sign radiated heat and then bubbled and frothed until it simply disintegrated.

Sylar frowned. He'd seen that power before. In fact he was sure he knew that whiny voice.

"Please don't hurt us," whimpered the sugar daddy and, sure enough, when the hot-head turned on his heel, Sylar recognized the face of Luke Campbell.

He rolled his eyes. Great. Just fricking great. Just what he needed, a blast from the past who was intent on screwing up his present. That was just like the whiny little brat, too. Show up and screw Sylar over.

"Man up Grandpa, you're showing yourself up for your lady friend." Luke sneered.

It seemed that the little brat had gained some spice in the past few years; if still devoid of common sense.

Sylar eyed Luke closely. The years since he'd been dumped in the middle of nowhere and left to fend for himself had not been kind. Luke was scrawnier now than he had been before, if that were even possible. Maybe the last time he had a proper meal was that time at the cafe with Sylar.

He was taller, scruffier and a hell of a lot meaner.

Sylar sighed. As much as his newly formed conscience would love to poke him and moan that he had been the one to turn the sweet young boy into this desperate villain he could no more lie to himself that he could take lies from others. Luke had been heading down that slippery step to psychoville long before Sylar had ever darkened his door.

The kid enjoyed frying things and manipulating people; Sylar had just given him a role model.

Which was something that he could use.

"Your only chance is to come willingly." Hailed the police.

Luke closed his eyes momentarily and Sylar watched as hip lips formed the words "What would Sylar do?"

Sylar grinned maliciously. "Well first, Sylar would probably tell you to stop melting stuff, it shows a lack of control."

Luke spun, his mouth open as Sylar let go of his invisibility.

"Sylar!"

"Then he'd tell you that taking hostages if you don't intend to use them is tacky and pointless. What did I tell you, Luke? Always have a plan, always have a goal." He leaned against the door as if it hadn't been years since he had last seen his protegee. "So what was your goal here, hmm. Money? Your plan, get in smash grab some rocks and pawn them? Your plan, Luke. Epic fail."

Luke gaped a few more times. "Sylar, you're alive."

"I can't actually die." He rolled his eyes again and pushed away from the door heading into the room. Luke's face lit up.

"Man, what are you doing here?"

"I heard on the police radio that some little squirt was saying he had bunked with a psychopathic killer and knew some 'tricks'. Had to drop by and see what was happening. I get bored. By the way psychopath?" Sylar held his hands over his heart and mock pouted. "Hurtful."

Sylar walked around the room as if surveying the damage.

"Besides," he grinned, "The correct term is sociopath."

Luke licked his lips. "Uh, so you got to see Samson then?"

"Hmm, and you were right, huge disappointment. But then most parents are." Sylar looked down at the mother holding her daughter tight, her eyes intent on him.

He could see that her back was even straighter, her whole being screaming out that she knew who the real threat was. The thing was that a few years ago she would have been right. Now he was the good guy and Luke was the threat.

Ain't life funny.

He gave her an almost imperceptible shake of the head and she frowned slightly.

Sylar leaned back against one of the pillars and folded his arms, staring bemusedly at his former

traveling companion.

"So, cops outside, no way out. What do you do?"

Luke licked his lower lip. "Threaten to kill one of 'em until the cops back the fuck off."

"Beeep, wrong." Sylar rolled his eyes. "You've been watching too many TV shows. If you kill someone, they don't let you go. They shoot you." He mimed a gun aimed at Luke's head. "One shot and suddenly you're part of the furnishings. Or worse, if they get a crap shot you're part of the produce aisle: having to have someone wipe your ass for the rest of your life. Now, Luke. i_Think_./i"

Luke's expression went from panicked to disgusted and back again before his mouth suddenly relaxed.

"You. You can get us out of here. Like you did with those soldiers."

Sylar's lips twitched. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"Because you don't like being shot at?" Luke's voice regressed a few years and he sounded like his old whiny self. "Come on, Sylar, get us out of here. I'll even wait while you-" he flicked a hand across his forehead and pointed at the hostages.

His narrowed his eyes. "And it wouldn't bother you? My killing these people in front of you? Look at them, Luke. Would their murder bother you?"

Sylar waited with bated breath as Luke answered the question. Unbeknownst to him, Luke's next words would seal his fate.

If the kid showed even the slightest hint of remorse, if he were uncomfortable with the deaths of these innocent people then there was the possibility of redemption. If, however, he was as far gone as he seemed and had completed the transition from human to sociopath then there was nothing for Sylar to do but take him out.

Luke looked at the old man and his trophy girlfriend and the cashier and her manager without even a blink. Then he caught sight of the mother wrapped around her quietly crying daughter.

She hadn't said a word, hadn't pleaded for her life like the others had. She'd just shielded her child to the best of her ability and tried to protect her.

Luke's eyes fixed on them and the girl edged further into her mother's embrace. He swallowed and looked back at Sylar.

He raised his chin, defiance and feigned indifference etched into his face. His bravado was evident as he faced Sylar.

"Not at all."

Sylar gave him a deep, villainous grin. "Liar."

Luke shifted uncomfortably but Sylar pushed away from the pillar and inclined his head. "But it was the right answer. I'll clean up your little mess this time on account of your 'helping' me find my father. But, if I do this, I'm going to want something in return."

"Name it." Luke didn't even hesitate.

"You wanted to be like me. I'm going to give you the opportunity to do just that."

A grin slid over Luke's face as he did the math. "I'm going to be your apprentice?"

Sylar grimaced at the obvious glee on his face. "If you call me Yoda, even once, I will end you."

"Sure!" Luke trilled. "Awesome."

"One proviso. You have to do exactly what I say when I say. If that means that you dress in a tutu and flash the President then that is what you do. Understood?"

"You're the boss."

Yes he was.

"I will deal with this. Go out the back, the door is open. Head down the alleyway to the left and wait for me by the dumpster. If you're not waiting there for me the deal is off."

Luke nodded almost pathetically and headed for the back room.

"Oh, Luke?" Sylar called and the boy halted in the doorway.

"Yeah."

"Give me back the jewels. Stealing is tacky."

Luke frowned but dipped his hand into his pockets and pulled out the glistening baubles, dropping them into Sylar's outstretched hands.

"Good boy."

Sylar noted Luke's delight at the patronizing tone with concern. Someone- before him that was- had done a number on that kids head and he had a sneaking suspicion that Samson Grey was not entirely innocent in this matter.

He waited until he had heard the kids footsteps echo away before Sylar walked over to the mother and knelt down.

"Are you all right, did he hurt you?"

The mother lifted her chin and gave a slight shake of her head. "He slapped that woman over there but he didn't touch us. We're okay."

Us not 'me'. The mother hadn't even thought of herself.

Sylar smiled and the girl sniffed.

"Aa-re you gonna hurt us?" her voice wavered.

Sylar shook his head. "No."

"B-but you knew him. He was scared of you," she sniffed again and her mother stroked the back of her head soothingly.

"I used to be a bad man," Sylar admitted, "but now I'm not. I won't hurt you-"

"Kayla."

He gave her another smile. "Kayla, you were very brave. But I don't want you to be scared. I'll make sure that he won't hurt anybody ever again. I promise."

The small girl bit her lip and nodded once. "Okay."

Sylar stood up and glanced around. "Listen up. Here's what's going to happen now."

Surprisingly, things went off without a hitch, aided, no doubt, by everyone's willingness to just go home and have this whole nightmare over with.

Sylar waited in the alley and watched as the six hostages swore up and down that the guy who'd robbed the place had been dressed head to foot in camouflage gear and that they'd never seen his face. Each and every one of them denied seeing his escape and vowed that they couldn't identify him even if they did see him again.

Sylar felt slightly amused at that, knowing as he did that Luke's face would be permanently imprinted on their memories, each time growing uglier and scarier until one day they would describe him as a cross between Marilyn Manson and the Elephant Man.

Of course by then Luke would either be reborn or buried.

Sylar sighed and walked slowly down the alley to where the annoying young man waited eagerly for his training to begin.

Sylar cocked his head and eyed Luke, his mind whirring like a broken clock. How was he going to do this? How could he possibly derail this kid's one way ride to hell?

Maybe by being the devil.

With a flash Sylar reached out and slammed his forearm against Luke's throat, pinning him to the wall.

Luke's fingers scraped and scratched at his suit jacket, his eyes bulging as he fought for breath.

"Du-" he coughed as Sylar leaned harder, cutting off his words.

"One thing you should learn about me right off the bat, Luke, is that I don't like idiots. I don't deal with idiots and around me they tend to...bleed. What you just did, Luke, was idiotic. Stupid, childish and selfish and that will get you killed. But worse, it will get you noticed." Sylar pushed away and narrowed his eyes at the gasping boy. "Do you recall anything of the time we spent together?"

Luke nodded, eyes wide.

"The cafe?"

He nodded again, massaging his throat.

"You boiled that guy's water attracting attention to us and what happened to you Luke? Hmm?"

Sylar's eyes pierced his and Luke swallowed again.

"They dumped me in a van."

"You. Were. Caught." Sylar hissed each word. "Rule the first, Luke. Don't. Get. Caught. What's rule number one?"

"Don't get caught."

"Again."

"Don't get caught."

"And how do we do that?"

Luke shifted. "Be better than them?"

"Don't attract attention. Stay under the radar. Be smarter. Not better, Luke. Smarter. So far you've not exactly impressed me with your smarts." Sylar curled his lip in disgust and Luke looked away.

"Don't get caught, don't attract attention and never i_Never/i_ ever let them know what you are. Repeat those back to me."

Sylar made him repeat it again and again and again until Luke's teeth gritted against the words.

Finally, Sylar relaxed and stepped back, Luke breathed a sigh of relief which was short lived as Sylar grabbed his arm and pushed him out of the alley and into broad daylight. Luke winced against the light and tried to slide back into the shadows.

"You're Special, Luke, not a vampire. It's sunlight, it's good for you. Deal with it."

Luke grumbled but kept his voice low and just followed Sylar out into the street.

"Where are we going?" Luke asked after they'd been walking for a good ten minutes.

"Away from the scene of the crime," Sylar said with his patented 'stop asking stupid questions before I remove your brain' tone. It worked for all of ten seconds.

"Where?"

Sylar sighed. "It's lunch time and I'm hungry. We're going to walk calmly to the nearest diner so we don't look like we're fleeing the scene of your dumbass crime and we're going to eat. I'm going to eat." Sylar shot him a sideways glance. "You can do whatever you want, Luke. Feel free to walk away at any time."

Luke said nothing and followed him as he walked into the nearest cafe and slid into one of the plastic seats, grabbing a menu and flickering his eyes over it. His mind was only half on the words dancing in front of him, the rest was whirling with a plan for the boy.

Luke Campbell was far too much of a loose cannon to let run free. The boy had no boundaries, no conscience and no clue about how to go on. What he needed was a firm hand and someone to show him the way- the right way- to go on. Luke was so desperate for approval from anyone he would have followed the first person that came along whether it was a gang, a cult or a serial killer. It was why he'd been so happy to go along with Sylar in the first place. Luke wanted to belong, he wanted someone to see him and accept him and be there for him; and that was something that Sylar could relate to. He knew what it was like to feel aimless and pointless and to have no direction and no prospect of it. Many times in his life he had felt like fate was buffeting him along and he was powerless to stop it without an anchor. Well, Sylar had his anchor and now he was going to offer a hand to another drowning victim.

Luke needed direction and substance and he was going to get it, only not in the way that he probably thought.

"I'll have a vanilla milkshake and waffles."

"It's lunchtime," Luke pointed out.

"Fine, I'll have the pasta. You?"

Luke shifted slightly and ducked his head. "I left my wallet at home."

Sylar's head tingled at the lie and he grinned inwardly. Luke had no wallet, no money and probably no home. Which meant that the jewelry heist was a necessity and not just a whim.

This might be even easier than he thought.

Sylar sniffed. "I'll buy this once. What are you having?"

Luke's eyes widened and Sylar could hear his stomach growl at the thought of having some real food.

"I'll have the mega burger and fries with a shake- chocolate- and the side of onion rings."

"Followed by a heart attack at thirty. You can have the burger and fries but salad instead of the onion rings. And you get juice instead of the shake." Sylar's expression just dared him to argue and Luke was so hungry that he just nodded.

Sylar left him at the table and went up to order, shooting the harassed waitress a smile that had her grinning for possibly the first time that day. He paid and went back to his seat.

Luke leaned forward. "Why did you do that?"

"What?"

"Pay her. Don't you have, like, mind fuck powers."

"One, watch your language," Sylar frowned, "vulgarity is the last defense of a feeble mind and two, what would be the point of not paying? She provides a service, I pay for the service. That's the way the world works, Luke."

"But you could tell her to do anything with your Jedi tricks and she'd do it. Why pay when you can get it for free?"

Sylar sat back in his chair and regarded Luke like he was a bug on a windshield. After several moments Luke started to shift uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Just curious as to how you've survived this long."

"Street smarts," Luke preened.

"Actually I was going to put it down to blind luck," Sylar folded his arms as Luke's face fell. "Do you have to remind yourself to breathe as you walk? Your perception of the world is a little off."

Luke sat back in his chair, mimicking Sylar subconsciously as he folded his arms and snorted.

"We're all powerful, we're the next step up on the food chain. Why should we have to pay or settle or deal when we are more than they are. Stronger, faster. Better."

"You see yourself as better?" Sylar pointed to the waitress who was pouring coffee and grabbing orders. "How are you better than her? Because you can melt things? Because you have... what? What exactly is it that you possess, Luke?"

Luke glared.

Sylar pointed to the waitress smiling at her next customer. "That's Kelly-Ann, she was brought up in a one parent family, her dad ran off with the babysitter. She has three brothers all younger who she has to sit for. She works here so she can save up to buy a car. She has a job. She has a family who love her, even if they struggle. Kelly-Ann has dreams of going somewhere and being somebody. She's smart and got her GED at nights after having to drop out to take care of her mother when she got sick. She's clever, resilient and can remember six orders at once. In what way are _you_ better than her, Luke?"

"You're making that shit up."

"Language," Sylar reminded him. He picked up a napkin. "Clairsentience. It means that I can tell the history of the object. Kelly-Ann has had this tucked in her pocket all day."

"Ok, fine," Luke spat, "but you, you can move shi-stuff with your mind and do all kinds of cool stuff just by thinking about it. You're more powerful and that makes you better."

"No," he corrected, "it just makes me stronger. Hitler was powerful, he was strong. Was he better than everyone else?"

"No, because he was a psycho."

"Because?"

"He killed... people." Luke trailed off frowning at his own words. "Hang on."

Sylar smiled. "He killed people. He believed that one certain set of people had the right to live because of a genetic fluke. He thought that he was better because he wielded that power and made people fear him. But did anyone really love Hitler? What do we think of when we hear the name? Most of all, Luke, do you think his life was worth it?"

"What?"

"His life, hate and murder and death, was it worth it?"

Luke opened his mouth but nothing came out. He just stared at Sylar for a long minute and then sank back in his chair, a lost expression on his face.

Kelly-Ann appeared with two trays and placed their meals down in front of them. "Here ya go guys. Burger, fries, juice, salad, shake and pasta. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." Sylar gave her an absent smile, his eyes still on Luke as she sauntered away.

He reached for his meal and started in with every sign of enjoyment and, after a few minutes Luke joined him, stabbing his salad viciously with a fork and scowling like his juice had personally screwed him over.

Sylar had finished his pasta and was making headway into his milkshake before Luke spoke again.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "His life wasn't worth shi-anything."

"Well done." He managed to hold back a grin but allowed Luke to follow the thought.

"But at least he was remembered."

"Not," Sylar pointed out, "with any fondness."

"Big deal. No one gets remembered for real, unless they've done something big. Everyone else lives, breaths, dies. I mean, like, in twenty years who's gonna care?"

"By your logic then, it's our actions now that matter."

"I guess."

"And what we have now that matters."

Luke's eyes lit up. "Yeah."

Sylar finished his milkshake and sat back again. "I have the ability to turn anything into gold."

Luke actually gaped. "Holy shit that's awesome."

"Language! So I turn this menu into pure gold and sell it for money which I spend on food and a bed for the night. Then tomorrow I'm hungry and sleepy again. So I turn something else and something else. Money, gold is fleeting."

"Is that why you collect powers?"

Ouch. He hadn't expected Luke to head that way.

"Partly. But powers too are fleeting. I can turn this to gold or tell you the complete history of the salt pot. I could create a tornado in this diner or freeze the plates or cause a quake or pull every object to me. I have these powers but what is the point?" Sylar leaned forwards. "You know what I found my father doing, Luke?"

"Stuffing a monkey?"

For one long second Sylar was wrong-footed and his lips twitched. "Actually it was rabbit. But he was dying. Dying i_alone./i_ He had all these powers and he was still stuck on his own breathing into a tank. Is that what you want, Luke? To be powerful and strong and die alone? Live lonely, have people shrink back from you in fear and eventually be found in your home a rotting corpse because no one cared enough to find your body for months?"

Luke swallowed and mumbled..

"What?"

"No."

"Again."

"What choice do I have?" Luke suddenly hissed, slamming his hands onto the table. "I had no fucking choice. My mom wouldn't take me back after she saw what I did to that guy. She said I was a monster. I've been living and breathing and no one was around to help me."

"So help yourself."

"Easy for you to say."

"Really?" Sylar rubbed his face with one hand and leaned forwards again, trying to push this into Luke's head. "You think that any of this has been easy? You killed one guy, Luke. One. I've killed so many more. I've torn apart families and I've screwed with heads and tormented people and it's taken years. Years. But now I have friends. Luke, I have people who would mourn my passing and actually be there for me if I need it."

"Well, yay for you." Luke was bitter. "We don't all have that luxury."

"i_You/i_ do." Sylar insisted. "You said you had no one to help. Well here it is. I will help you gain redemption. I will help your life have meaning. I will help you to become better- not stronger or more powerful- but better. I will make you a better person, someone who counts. Who other people can count on. All you have to do is accept it."

Luke scoffed. "And what makes you think I want redemption, huh? Why would I want to be some lame ass cry baby who gives a shit what other people think? The world turned it's back on me, Sylar. I'm just returning the favor."

"You're pouting like a child."

"I don't care."

"But you do," Sylar tucked his hand into his pocket, "you didn't want to hurt that mother and her daughter, you haven't killed anyone else since that soldier in your living room. Because, deep down, you are good and you want to be good, to be liked." Sylar reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty and threw it on the table.

"What's that?"

"A tip for the waitress."

"No, that." Luke pointed at the wallet and Sylar looked down into the bemused eyes of Claire. The picture he had taken of her on Peter's camera with her eyes dancing and her smile confused had adorned his wallet for weeks now. He stroked her picture.

Luke tried to angle his head to see the picture but Sylar slapped his wallet shut with a pointed glare.

"She is someone I care for," he pinned Luke with a look. "And someone who is helping me to redeem myself. It isn't easy. But it is worth it. I am someone now. I'm a brother and a friend and a uncle, I have a family and it is worth every inch it's taken me to fight for. What you have to think about now, Luke, is if you have the guts to fight for it. If you can become someone worth it. Part of a family, maybe even my family. I can't make you do this, I can't do it for you and I'm not gonna screw around. It is gonna be hard." Sylar got up and pushed away from the table. "I'm going outside and I'll wait for two minutes. One hundred twenty seconds and then I'm gone. If you choose to man up and take the hard path with me, be outside in those two minutes. I won't wait longer and I won't ask again. This is your one shot, kid. If you're not there..."

"Then what?"

Sylar shrugged. "The next time I see you, I'll probably have to kill you."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the bright diner squinting in the mid-day sun. He could have read Luke's mind, he could have telepathically frog-marched him along and made him do as he was told but he needed to know that Luke wanted this, that Luke was going to be invested in this whole-souled.

_i...ten...eleven...twelve...thirteen.../i_

because, like it or not, if the boy accepted this then anytime he screwed up it would be on Sylar's head because Sylar vouched for him. He would have to fight again and again for the boy, trying to convince everyone that Luke was worth saving and that he could be changed.

_i...forty-five... forty-six...forty-seven../i_

And what would Peter say to all this? He was going to have to give Luke somewhere to live, could the kid possibly stay with them? It had taken Peter years to trust him, would he want a reminder of Sylar's old life in his apartment, close to Emma?

What about Claire, what would she say? Would seeing Luke make her think twice about Sylar; after all if he could vouch for someone as messed up as Luke surely he wasn't all there.

_i… ninety-nine...one-hundred... one hundred-one.../i_

Could he really kill Luke if it came to it? When they found a Special who was intent on villainy they usually tried to persuade him otherwise by scaring him with Sylar and, if that didn't work, they handed him over to Bennet who locked them away. He wouldn't want Luke in Bennet's hands, he knew too much about Sylar and Sylar didn't trust Noah as far as he could throw him. So would he kill Luke, maybe Haitian him?

_i...one hundred-ten... one hundred-eleven.../i_

He felt rather than heard the door open and hid his smile as light footsteps tripped over to him.

"You do this my way, with no arguments."

"Whatever," Luke said quietly. "You're the boss."

Sylar turned and started walking, Luke moving into line quickly.

"Her name wasn't Kelly-Ann, ya know."

Sylar's lips twitched. "I know."

"So why did you say it?"

Sylar turned his head and pinned Luke with a look. "To get you here."

Luke flushed. "I'm here now. So what happens now?"

"Now, we go see Peter and hope that he's not had to deal with Angela for too long."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 (good lord how long is this fic gonna be?)

Claire couldn't help but be curious. It was a vice that had often got her into trouble, mostly because her dad's secrets tended to be of the lethal kind, but she'd always been a nosy child, eyes wide and curious about the world she was living in and the people that inhabited it.

It was why she was currently trying to overhear the argument that was going on in Sylar's office.

For once, the door between his and Peter's office where she was working, was closed and, for the first time since she'd contemplated jumping off that damned Ferris wheel, Peter and Sylar were actually fighting.

She had heard the voices as soon as she had come back off her lunch break and just assumed that they were having one of their geek debates; seriously she'd had no idea that her beloved uncle was such a nerd. In fact she was seriously considering how anyone who could quote chapter and verse the first season of i_Battlestar Galactica/i_ could possibly be called a hero... or grown-up for that matter.

But this didn't seem like the usual Boomer verses Starbuck argument and she listened closer when she heard Peter actually swear.

"Dammit Sylar, I can't believe we're even talking about this!"

"Give it a shot, Peter. I thought we were all about redemption?"

"He isn't sorry! It isn't redemption if he's just doing this so you won't kill him."

"Fear is as good a starting place as conscience."

"You did _not_ just say that."

"It worked for me."

"You were different."

"Not so much."

There was silence for a moment and Claire crept closer to the door. She heard Sylar sigh loudly and there was a creak of someone sitting on the edge of the desk.

"Look, Pete, I'm not saying he gets a free pass but surely we can do something."

"Yeah, call Noah and get him transferred to juvie for a couple of months."

"And when he melts it down?"

"I can say I told you so."

"Dammit Peter!"

Claire frowned. That didn't sound like Peter, unwilling to give someone a chance. What was going on?

"Look," Peter said so quietly that Claire had to strain to hear him. "I'm not saying that I don't want to help the kid, Sy, after all that's kinda what we do. I'm all about saving and helping but this guy was a problem even before your road trip. And I'm not having him stay at our apartment. Not so near Emma. And Claire. Do you want that kid near Claire?"

"No." Sylar sighed again. "But we can't send him away, Pete. He's on the edge of becoming a villain and needs someone there to stop him. He needs, for a better phrase, a role model."

"And you-"

"God no! Not me. I meant you. Peter. I would suck as a role model. I meant for him to spend time around you."

Claire found a smile curving her face. She knew how Peter would react to that and she was right.

"Aw man, you can't do that emotional blackmail stuff. It isn't fair."

"You're the best person I know." Heartfelt and not just a little amused.

"Dammit! Okay, fine. He can't stay with us but I think I know someone who needs a roomie. One of the kids- Sam. He's staying in town for a couple of months in one of our hideaways and could probably deal with someone his own age."

"Sam... Dungeon master?"

"Yeah."

There was another long pause. "So, what you're saying is we put one trigger happy geek with the ability to make fire-breathing monsters out of household items in a room with another trigger happy teenager who likes to melt things."

"... it's not like we were expecting to get the security deposit back."

Claire grinned and stepped back away from the door.

So Sylar's mission had been to find some kid who was heading towards the dark side and was trying to reign him in. It was sweet, she could almost see Sylar as a mentor type with a teenage boy telling him to watch his manners and get his feet off the table.

She turned and slammed face first into a tall skinny body.

"Ow!" Claire said and then felt immediately stupid. It hadn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Saying 'ow' was just reflex and made her feel dumb. She stepped back and looked up.

The scowl on the boy's face was directed at her and set her back up immediately. Okay, so she should have been watching where she was going but he shouldn't have been standing right behind her.

"Excuse me," she said in her most haughty tone.

"No."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"

His chin raised as he nodded to the door. "You were listening in. Typical girl being nosy about stuff that doesn't concern you."

His eyes were cold, cold and mean and Claire felt a little uneasy at having this boy so close to her.

She stepped back and he followed smirking at her actions.

Claire clenched her jaw. "I have no idea who you are but you need to back off right now."

His grin was nasty. "I don't think so."

Claire made to move past him but his hand shot out lightning quick and wrapped around her upper arm, his fingers tightened.

"Let go."

"Uh no."

Claire wrenched her arm back and forth but the boy had a surprisingly firm grip and his touch was getting warm. Her eyes dropped to the slight tinge of red surrounding his hand.

"What are you doing?"

The boy's grin widened. "Just a little something I picked up on the road. Like it?"

Claire frowned. "You're a microwave manipulator."

"What?"

"The ability to convert electromagnetic energy into microwaves and manipulate it into various effects such as heat, light, and radiation. I knew one guy- Ted Sprague who was literally radioactive." Claire smirked. "I survived him so your little i_Hotpoint/i_ powers are kinda pointless to use on me."

"Oh yeah?" he grimaced and Claire could smell charred flesh.

"You're ruining my shirt, asshole," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'll do more than that," he hissed back, "you think this is painful, you just wait to see what my friend's gonna do to you."

Peter raked his hand through his hair and nodded. "Okay, so if Noah agrees-"

"Wait!" Sylar held up his hand cutting Peter off mid-sentence. Peter frowned but Sylar was no longer paying him any attention.

There was something wrong. Something really wrong and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Maybe it was his empathy or some other random power he'd picked up but his whole body was screaming at him to move.

Before he even realized it he was at the door to his office, wrenching it open.

The tableau on the other side of the door made his insides freeze.

Luke was looming over Claire, his hand burning brightly, searing heat into her arm as he sneered down at her.

Claire's eyes were wide and glassy and her face was screwed up in anger.

Fury rolled through Sylar, igniting pure unadulterated rage in his belly until his veins throbbed and his heart pounded in his ears. An odd ticking was all the warning he had before something took over and his hand raised, telekinetically ripping Luke away from his precious girl.

Luke slammed against the far wall, narrowly missing being impaled by a framed photograph. His hands flailed out, knocking several books off a nearby shelf but Sylar didn't care. Couldn't care.

All he could see was a threat. Someone who had hurt his Claire. Someone who needed teaching a lesson.

His hand raised higher and fingers twitched.

Luke scrabbled at his throat, gasping as his air-flow began constricting. He kicked his legs, slamming them against the wall.

"Uh, Sy. You can stop now."

No. He was nothing. He had laid his hand on Sylar's property and that was punishable by death. No second chances, no regrets. No mercy. No one hurt his Claire. No one.

Red swirled in Sylar's vision.

"Sy? Sylar?" Something moved in his periphery. "Hey, buddy. Sylar. Stop!"

Sylar growled.

"Sylar, you need to let him down. Dude stop!"

He didn't need to do anything. He was Sylar, there was no one better. No one stronger. Electricity flashed across his fingertips, lighting up the air in blue sparks.

He was going to fry this little brat. Then he was going to take his power. He had to. The Hunger was thrumming in his veins. He had to just take what he wanted, take it and make him scream until-

"Sylar?" The voice was different. Softer, sweeter and familiar.

A gentle touch stayed his hand and he looked down to slender dainty fingers on his skin. Blonde hair stepped into his field of vision and the red haze ebbed away, leaving soft pink cheeks, green eyes and a concerned expression on a beautiful face.

Her face.

Claire.

Sylar shuddered and dropped his hand. Luke fell to the floor with a bang and a wheeze, gasping and coughing as he fought for air.

Sylar stepped back, blinking. His head was a mess. He could still feel the rage but under that, over that something was pushing its way to the front, trying to make itself be heard. He couldn't see, couldn't think.

Claire touched his hand again and he focused on her.

"Claire?"

"Hey," she gave him a small smile. "Are you okay?"

"Is _he_ okay?" gasped the boy on the floor.

Peter gently kicked him. "If he's not okay then you become crispy fries. His health is kinda your concern right now."

Luke nodded quickly. "Is he okay?"

Claire rolled at eyes at them and reached up, sliding her hand over his face. "Sylar?"

Sylar swallowed. "Y-yeah. I'm okay."

"Well, if _he's _okay."

Peter kicked him again.

Sylar shook his head and the rest of the confusion left him. He was in his office with Peter trying to plead for him to take care of ... ah.

"Luke."

"Yes, Luke. Not shish-ka-bob." The boy clambered to his feet. "What the hell dude?"

"Are you injured?" Peter asked, checking his over quickly.

"He threw me into a fu- fricking wall. Of course I'm injured!"

"If you can bitch you're not too badly hurt," Claire said crossly.

"Hey, this is all your fault you nosy bi-"

In two strides Sylar grabbed hold of the scruff of his shirt and had him slammed against the wall again, this time it was brute force rather than strength of will that helped.

"You might want to consider very carefully the next few words that come out of your mouth," he hissed. "I have some... rather strong views about what will happen to you otherwise. Are you going to finish that sentence?"

Luke, perhaps for the first time in his life, chose to do the smart thing and said nothing.

Sylar smirked. "Good choice. This is your first lesson in how not to screw up your life. Stop attacking people and showing off your powers. I'm not impressed, dude. Trying to char boil girls is a way of a- never getting laid and b- ending up in a very bad place. Whether that's jail, a science lab or my bad books is all up to you but from here on out you do not use your power without permission. Got it?"

"Je-"

"No swearing or blaspheming either. My way or the highway, Luke. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand." Luke started to touch the elbow in his throat but changed his mind, his eyes wide at Sylar's proximity.

"Luke Campbell this is Peter Petrelli, the closest thing to a brother I have and this is Claire Bennet his niece. If you hurt her, if you upset her, if you so much as look at her the wrong way again I will make sure that no one finds the little pieces of you that survive. Understand?"

Luke nodded quickly.

"Apologize to her for the language you used and the fact that you were trying to burn a hole through her arm."

Luke grimaced. "I'm not-"

Sylar added a little pressure to his forearm and gave Luke his very best restrained serial killer look. Psychosis edged with calm.

"I'm not asking."

"Sorry," Luke bit out and Sylar stepped back.

"Claire, Peter this is Luke Campbell."

"Hi!" Peter waved pleasantly, like they had just met at a garden party. "It's nice to meet you but you are not sleeping on my couch on account of you being a little crazy. No offense meant."

"None taken." Luke said, rubbing his throat. He glared at Sylar but the psychotic serial killer wasn't looking at him. Instead his gaze was intent on the girl who Luke had just tried to barbeque.

She was pulling at the shirt sleeve with a burn mark in it and pushing it up to reveal...

nothing.

"Hey!" Luke started forward but Sylar's hand twitched and he froze. "You've healed!"

Claire flicked her glance from her unblemished arm to Luke. "Yeah, so?"

"That's cool." Luke enthused. "So, like, I could have burnt right through and nada?"

"If you'd burnt through her arm," Sylar said calmly, "I'd be looking for someplace to bury you about now."

"Right, sure," Luke bit his lip and then smiled uneasily at Claire. "As powers go, it's not like telekinesis or anything but healing is pretty cool." Luke gave Claire a once over and gave her what he assumed was a charming smile. "Very pretty."

Luke's eyes were bright and it was like he had all but forgotten that he had tried to incinerate Claire moments ago. Sylar shook his head. He had never known anyone- other than Hiro- who could bounce back quite so quickly. Luke Campbell had thicker skin than a rhino.

"But seriously, uh sorry about that. I thought you were a threat to my pal, Sylar. He can heal too ya know."

Her eyes narrowed. "Where do you think he got it?"

Luke wrinkled his nose. "He said he got it from a wicked hot cheerleader with a great ass."

Peter clapped a hand over his mouth to hide the bark of laughter that erupted as Sylar very quickly turned the color of a tomato.

"I didn't actually say that!" Sylar protested, avoiding Claire's open mouth as she turned to him.

"Sure you did," Luke continued oblivious, "although I think you said smoking hot cheerleader."

"Smoking hot?"

Sylar closed his eyes against the definite amusement in Claire's voice. "Please shut up, Luke."

"Why? Don't you remember? It was when we were talking about fantasies and you said the girl could bend like a pretzel and you wanted to-"

"Shut up!" Sylar growled and Luke took the hint.

Peter was now bent double, gasping and clutching his sides, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Dude, I didn't think humans were supposed to go that color."

"I hate you all." Sylar said, rubbing his face. He didn't even dare look at Claire who was alarmingly silent. He gnawed on his lower lip and changed a glance at her but she was facing away from him, her arms folded against her chest.

He wasn't sure what to say at this point. He'd not exactly hidden his feelings for Claire but then again he'd never really come out and said it to her either. Now Luke within five minutes of being here had managed to put his foot in it in the most spectacular of ways and just as Claire had been warming to him as well.

Son of a bitch.

What was she thinking now? Was she calling him a pervert? Was she remembering that at the time of these fantasies he had also been hunting people down and slicing open their heads? Was she thinking that she couldn't believe she was giving him a chance? Was she remembering everything that he had done? Why wouldn't she just turn around and look at him?

Peter finally managed to stop laughing and swiped the tears of amusement from his face. "Okay dude, well. Um, I'm going to take Luke here to visit Sam. Luke, we need to talk."

"I kinda have to do what he says," Luke inclined his head towards Sylar. "Is that okay, Sylar?"

"Whatever." Sylar didn't take his eyes off Claire. "Go with Peter. He'll get you settled and we'll start talking redemption tomorrow."

Peter clapped Luke on the back. "Until then we're going to have a little talk about something called full disclosure or when to keep your mouth shut."

Sylar rolled his eyes as his brother led his pseudo protege out of the room.

Silence reigned.

Sylar tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Then he yanked them out and straightened his tie. After jamming his hands into his pockets for the third time he finally opened his mouth.

"Claire?" He winced at the almost desperate tone of his voice.

"Why would you do that?"

Why? Wasn't it obvious?

"You're hot," he said honestly, "you're beyond hot. You're beautiful, Claire, you always have been and yes I had fantasies and, perhaps it isn't the most respectful-"

"No," Claire gave a short laugh and turned to face him, "I didn't mean the fantasy thing. I meant why would you attack Luke?"

"Oh."

For the first time since he had been that timid little watchmaker drowning in his own guilt, Sylar wished that he could actually die. Or he wished that Samuel Sullivan was still alive and could literally make the ground swallow him.

Instead he chose to just answer the question and wished he could get out of there with his sanity if not his dignity intact.

"I attacked Luke because he was hurting you."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Invulnerable. And I can't feel pain. He wasn't hurting me. I can't be hurt, remember?"

Sylar took one step and reached for her hands.

"Yes you can," he said simply, staring into her eyes.

She opened her mouth to deny that, to refute it and call him stupid for even suggesting but something in his expression stopped her and she just shook her head once.

"Physically, you can't be hurt, Claire but you forget. My main power was understanding. I understand everything and I get you. I get you in a way that no one ever will and I know that you can still be hurt. You're heart is bigger and more encompassing than any I've ever seen. You love so much, you forgive and you let people in. And people hurt you. Again and again and again. Noah, for one."

"My dad-" she started but he held a finger to her lips, a soft smile on his face.

"I'm not going to trash him, Claire, you don't need to defend him to me. But just the fact that you would after everything,. The fact that you forgive him even if you don't trust him says so much, the fact that you saved Doyle, the fact that you even speak to me. You're amazing Claire but you're also vulnerable."

"I'm really not," she whispered.

But she was and in ways that he didn't want to bring to her attention. He didn't want to give her those truths, truths that would only hurt her but she needed to know, needed to hear them.

"Your boss tried to rape you and there was nothing you could do."

Claire gasped at his blunt words and tried to yank her hands away but he held tight.

"Nathan strapped you to a plane and fed you drugs and there was nothing you could do. Doyle made you a puppet. I hurt you, terrorized you and there was nothing you could do. You are tiny, Claire, so tiny. And fragile. And you'll always be like this. You'll always look young and sweet and delicate and fragile and someone somewhere will always want to take advantage. Someone will always want to exploit that vulnerability. Someone will think you're weak and will come after you and there will be nothing you can do about it."

"Stop it."

"And you know it too. I know you do, I know you've seen it. I know that you've started to realize that you will forever be seventeen and forever be a victim.."

"Stop it!" Claire let tears well up in her eyes and it was Sylar's heart that ached for her.

"Luke wasn't hurting you physically, but you felt helpless and you felt vulnerable and I couldn't stand by and watch as he hurt you. I never will. Claire. I _never _will."

"What?"

"I'm strong, powerful," he shrugged with a small hint of modesty, "maybe one of the most powerful men on the planet. But more than that, better than that. I'm also immortal, Claire. You may be forever seventeen but you are also forever protected." He pulled her hands and placed them against his heart so she could feel the beat and the pulse against her palms, feel the tremor right down to her blood. "I vow to you that if it is within my power no one will ever hurt you. For the rest of eternity. I will protect you. I'll always come for you anytime you need me. Always."

Claire's eyes searched his, looking for something in his face, searching for something in his expression.

"You'll always be there?" her voice was so small but he had no trouble hearing it. He nodded once.

"Why?"

He opened his mouth to tell her. He started to spill his guts, to drop his heart at her feet, but he couldn't do it. The old Claire would have rejected him, spat out at him that he was worthless and pathetic and that there was no way that she would ever, could ever be with him. That Claire he could deal with because she didn't know what he had been through, she didn't know what he was capable of in terms of redemption, and she didn't know who he could be. She rejected the premise of him and that was fine.

This Claire knew.

This Claire had front row seats to his rebirth and she was with him every day watching as he fought to be better. This Claire knew Sylar and if she rejected him it would be real. If she told him that there was no way that they could ever be together it would be with full knowledge of who he was and who he could be. She would be rejecting _him._

And that would kill him.

"I-" he closed his mouth and just smiled. "Because I want to. Because there is no one else that will. Because one day we will be the only two people who remember who the _Spice Girls_ were and can quote _Firefly_ and that has got to mean something."

Claire gave a short sharp laugh and swiped at her face. "I aim to misbehave, Zig-a-zig-ah."

"One day that will make even less sense," Sylar shrugged, smiling a little at her renewed strength. "Now I guess I've got to go and get Luke settled with Sam."

"What are you gonna do with him?" Claire asked. "I mean, he seems a little trigger happy."

"Tonight he stays with Sam and, if either one survive, then tomorrow we're gonna ask your dad to put him through The System."

Claire raised one eyebrow. "The System?"

Sylar nodded. "It's a part of The Company that was set up to rehabilitate those with...uh behavioral problems." His lips twitched. "There's psych evaluations, testing, lessons and training sessions. Kinda like boot camp for the sociopathically gifted."

"Nut camp."

He let loose a full grin. "It works."

She gave him an openly skeptical look. "Did _you_ go through it?"

"I _designed_ it."

"Nice."

It was nice. He was ridiculously proud of his idea and it did work. It took Special's with problems and helped them to focus and deal with what they could do. Niall in accounting was one such success story- the poor man couldn't handle telepathy responsibly and had 'liberated' millions of dollars from unsuspecting citizens before he had been convinced to stop- and there were more coming in each day who wanted to be good people but had been seduced or corrupted by their powers. That was something Sylar could identify with and he was so pleased that he could help them, even in a small way. The System was a stroke of genius.

"It takes a month and, after that, if he passes then he can come shadow me."

Claire smiled up at him. "So you're going to take the walking microwave and make him into a useful member of society? Good luck."

"I don't need luck," Sylar preened, "I have good looks, charm and intuitive adaptability."

"You also have a big head and hero complex."

He pouted. "Words hurt, Claire."

"It's a good thing you are a hero then, isn't it?" she reached up and playfully tugged his tie. She bit her lower lip and looked up at him through her lashes almost flirtatiously.

Sylar swallowed hard. "Am I, Claire?"

"I told you you're my hero. My hero, my villain." She stroked his tie absently, "Although not so much the villain anymore I guess. Sylar the mentor, Sylar the good guy."

His heart swelled with every word, pride and delight and sheer joy swirling in his stomach.

"Sylar the brother. Sylar the partner. Sylar the... friend?"

"Is that what we are?" His voice was thick. The tiny fingers that stroked his tie were painting delicate patterns against the thin material of his shirt, searing his skin and causing an interesting reaction a little lower.

Claire flattened her hands, her small palms against his rib cage and then they slid apart, circling around to his back and, with one small step Claire was hugging him. She turned her head to the side and laid it against his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

He closed his eyes in acute sweet agony and just reveled in the feel of her, the essence of her against him. Claire in his personal space, touching him. Hugging him.

Claire was hugging him. Voluntarily and with full knowledge of who he was and what he had done.

Her affection was being freely given and if he could have had Hiro's power he would have paused this moment forever. He was so intent on memorizing the sensations that he almost didn't hear her next words.

"I don't know what we are, Sylar. But you're not the bad guy anymore."

He stilled. "What?"

"I forgive you."

For Sylar nothing could have prepared him for the sensation. He'd been with Hiro when the world had paused and this wasn't it. He'd felt the power of a million suns in his veins and it was nothing to this. He'd traveled through time and space and used Tracey's power to freeze and nothing compared.

He felt like every single molecule had just stopped, every noise on Earth had ceased except for the little beats of Claire's heart against his chest.

It held for one, two, three as his mind screamed denial and his soul pleaded for him to not be dreaming.

The stalemate broke and reality reasserted itself and it all rushed back. He remembered how to breathe and he gasped for precious oxygen even as his arms wrapped themselves around the warm body in front of him and anchored her.

"Say it again."

"I forgive you."

He shuddered but it came from extreme relief and not the result of his inbuilt lie detector. He clenched her tight and buried his face in her hair, her scent soothing him as much as her words.

"Claire," he muttered, "Claire."

He felt her smile against his chest and she tightened her own grip saying nothing but allowing the embrace to continue.

He had no idea what had prompted this, no idea what madness possessed her or what had changed but this was what he had been longing for for years and to finally have it was nothing short of euphoric.

"I'll earn it," he vowed, his lips pressing against her hair. "I promise, I 'll be worthy of it."

Claire pulled away slightly and looked up into his eyes. "I know."

His hands shook as they pushed her hair away from her face. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her lips to his and drown in her, offer his life, his soul to her to do with as she would and just follow her around like a slave. Luckily he still had a little pride and an even smaller smattering of dignity and he held back the soppy words and just ran his hand over her cheek luxuriating in the sensation of her.

Claire shifted slightly and then stepped back away from him. "Okay, well this was oddly emotional. I wasn't expecting this when I came to work today."

"Nor me."

Not even in his wildest dreams.

"What's say we check on Peter and your protege and then see if we can bunk off early for this movie night?"

He nodded. "Sounds like a solid plan."

She straightened her shirt and turned on her heel, heading the way Peter had gone with Luke. Sylar grabbed her hand before she could leave though.

She gave him a questioning look and he tried three times before he could get the words out.

"Thank you."

She gave him a lop-sided smile that reminded him of Peter. "Don't thank me just yet, I'm gonna make you earn it, mister."

He acknowledged her words and grinned. "Whatever you've got cheerleader, bring it on."

"_Sleepless in Seattle _it is."

Claire laughed as the humor drained from his face.

"Okay, when I said earn it-"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Claire sat on Peter's sofa with her feet up, watching the debate with amusement. Peter and Sylar had been arguing about what film to watch for some time and they didn't seem to be coming any closer to an agreement. It seemed that Peter had got the film all lined up and something had mysteriously happened.

"Once again," Sylar said through gritted teeth, "I have no idea what happened to your damn movie. I haven't touched it!"

"Sure," Peter scoffed. "I make you watch it once or twice whilst we're in your head..."

"Once or twice?" Sylar all but squeaked. "I only picked up that damn sledgehammer to get away from Tom Hanks! You're lucky I'd already repented because I was going after Meg Ryan when I got out."

"-but that doesn't mean that you can hide or incinerate my copy!"

"I didn't. But I wish I had. Now, in the place of that trash, can we please watch something else?"

"Fine," Peter pouted, "but I'm buying the deluxe edition tomorrow."

Sylar folded his arms. "I'm moving out."

"Directors cut with commentary."

"And I'm taking the cat."

There was a beat.

"We don't have a cat."

"Then what the hell have I been feeding?"

Peter shrugged. "Your ego manifested in animal form?"

Sylar's eyes narrowed and he pointed at Peter. "I'm blocking your eBay account."

"I'll just use yours," Peter smirked and shot a look across the room to an entertained Claire, "it's not like your password isn't obvious."

"Bite me."

"Not with somebody else's teeth."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Wuss."

"Psycho. How about a horror movie?" Peter walked over to his collection.

"No, I told you I didn't want to spend any time with your mother this evening," Sylar headed for the kitchen. His voice muffled as he started taking the cookies he'd been baking out of the oven.

"Ha ha," Peter yelled over his shoulder. "I was the one who had to deal with her all day."

"Your mother, your problem."

Claire leaned over to Emma who was frowning as she tried to follow the conversation that she couldn't hear.

Claire poked her to get her attention. "Think they've forgotten we are here. They're still arguing about what movie to watch. Peter thinks Sylar hid his copy of _Sleepless in Seattle_."

Emma smiled brightly. "He didn't," she whispered and edged a little to her left, showing the edge of the DVD case tucked under her seat. "It's uncomfortable," she signed, "but worth it."

Claire laughed in delight and covered her glee as Peter turned around.

Emma gave him a beatific smile. "What are we watching?"

Peter shrugged and called into the kitchen. "What about _You've got Mail_?"

"I swear to god, Peter, I will end you." Sylar appeared in the kitchen door waving a wooden spoon at his friend.

Peter cocked a grin. "No?"

"No."

"No," he sighed, "How about-"

"No to _City Of Angels_, no to _While you were sleeping_ and, so help me, if you even try to put on _iMy Best friend's Wedding_ I'm going to take out half of Hollywood. Man up and watch something that doesn't end with you bawling into tissues!"

"I'm not in the mood for a Rom-com anyway Peter," Claire called out, trying not to laugh. "What about a Musical?"

"With him?" Peter jabbed his thumb towards the kitchen. "No way."

"You're just jealous because I don't sound like a choir boy caught in a grinder." Sylar poked his head around the door, only to duck when a DVD case slammed into the wood near his head.

"Sylar can sing?" Claire blinked and turned to Emma who was watching her intently. "Can Sylar sing?"

Emma nodded enthusiastically. "I can see the sounds. Beautiful like blue storms and river tinkling."

Claire liked the sound of that. "And Peter?"

"Leaking pipe," Emma winced and shrugged.

"Thanks babe," Peter kissed her quickly even as he scowled. "Okay, action movie?"

"I'm quite happy to watch things explode." Claire nodded. "Emma?"

Emma agreed. She actually loved movie night. Peter and Sylar and Claire had gotten used to watching everything with subtitles and when Sylar installed the new surround sound Emma could feel the reverberation of sound in the air. Each sound effect from the screen produced a different color and she said it was like swimming in a rainbow.

It also meant that she got to spend some time curled up in Peter's arms and that was something that she wouldn't turn down.

Peter turned back to his DVD collection and began rifling through the action movies. Since moving in with Sylar his tastes had broadened dramatically and he'd gone from a room with the barest minimum of furniture to an apartment that actually looked like someone lived there. It was even, surprisingly, well decorated. Who knew telekinesis made for easy D.I.Y?

Sylar walked back in holding a tray filled with drinks.

"The cookies are cooling for after dinner, did anyone decide what we were going to have?"

"Pizza," Peter said. "I've already called it."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "You had pizza yesterday, Peter."

"Sorry _mom_," Peter said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. "I didn't realize I had to run my eating by you."

"Well when the junk food reaches your hips, don't come crying to me when Emma leaves you for someone who isn't fat."

"You're a such a girl."

"And you have your mother's metabolism. There is a reason Angela avoids chocolate cake, you know." Sylar grabbed his drink and sank down onto the sofa opposite Claire.

Peter just grimaced. "Fine, I'll have salad tomorrow, okay?"

Claire couldn't hold it back anymore. "God, why didn't you tell me you guys had gotten married?"

Peter and Sylar both whipped their heads around to look at her and then stared at each other for a beat before simultaneously shuddering.

"No way."

"Nuh uh."

"He'd hog the covers." This from Peter.

"And I couldn't stand his mess." And Sylar. "Besides I think Emma would have something to say both sharing her bed with two men."

_Yes she would,_ thought Claire, _and it wouldn't be 'no thanks'_

Claire just grinned. "But you'd make such a cute couple."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You are one sick puppy Claire Bennet."

Emma held up a hand to catch their attention. "But who would be the wife?"

"Hey!" Peter turned wounded eyes to his beloved. "So much for loyalty. I am much manlier. Sy would be the wife, he does the cooking and cleaning."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "And that's the wife's job?"

"Well, ye-," Peter caught Emma's look before the words had even come out of his mouth and he was frantically back-peddling, "or no. No is good. In fact the wife just needs to be pampered. There should be equal division of labor and chores and-" he sagged, "it's not working is it?"

Emma shook her head sympathetically. "Enjoy the couch."

"Some of the top Chef's are men," Sylar said suddenly, "and most cleaning companies are headed by men, cleaning and cooking are not solely a female arena, Peter. I thought in this enlightened time you would be more progressive."

"Says the one who cooks in a frilly apron."

Claire had just taken a sip of coke which was suddenly projected from her mouth with a huge snort, it spewed across her hand and she choked.

Sylar reared up quickly, grabbing tissues with one hand to clear up the spillage whilst touching her gently with the other.

"Are you okay?"

Claire coughed and gave one short hiccup, swiping the back of her hand against her mouth. Her eyes were still wide and she looked dazed as the image danced behind her eyes: Sylar with his ruffled dark hair and piercing eyes staring intently at a recipe, his long fingers wrapped around a whisk stroking the eggs into submission dressed in a short frilly apron... and nothing else.

"Claire?"

She blinked and stared at him with interest.

"Frilly? Really?"

Sylar couldn't help the exasperated look that crossed his face as he glowered at Peter. "No. It isn't frilly."

"But you do wear an apron."

"Food smears are not attractive."

"So you wear-"

"Yes! I wear an apron, all right." He folded his arms and slumped back against the sofa, pouting.

It was perhaps the single most adorable thing that she had ever seen and Claire had the sudden inexplicable urge to lean forward and kiss that pout off his face.

It was a somewhat alarming desire especially considering it came swiftly on the heels of her impromptu hug.

Which she was still in a quandary over. Not the actual hug or the conversation that preceded it. But the feelings that manifested as a result.

When Luke had a hold of her the only thing that ran through her mind was "here we go again" but Sylar's words had been eerily accurate.

Lately she had been wondering what she was going to do if she remained seventeen forever. She'd read post-apocalyptic books on how, when the world went to hell, it was only the fittest who survived, only those with brute strength that managed to stay safe.

She had no brute strength and the only thing she looked scary to was an ant.

The hundreds of scenarios for the long future ahead of her seemed to culminate in only two possibly responses for her.

The first was to be the eternal victim, for her to be scared and hurt and beaten and be on the run for eternity, eventually becoming a broken ghost of who she really was.

The second was to go the way of Peter's nightmare future and for her to become hard, scary uncompromising with a gun and an attitude that no one would ever dare mess with. She'd train and learn to fight and kill and lose herself in ice and become a broken soldier.

So those had been her choices, a soldier or a ghost. Both equally messed up and neither of them really her, neither of them really Claire Bennet.

Her future lay out before her as a wasteland, a brutal cornucopia of pain and isolation until someone got in a lucky shot.

Then Sylar had blasted his apprentice for, what was to her, the light offense of trying to fry her, and had been inches away from regressing back to the monster she had always assumed he was underneath.

But he'd stopped and then:

"_You may be forever seventeen but you are forever protected."_

She closed her eyes.

_"For the rest of eternity. I will protect you."_

All at once she had a third option. To remain herself. To remain Claire Bennet and to have someone watch over her.

Not like Noah who always tried to stifle and suffocate her, but someone who would just be there if she needed them. Someone she could rely on to save her, who had the ability to protect her and would- for whatever reasons be they guilt or obsession or whatever- stand up and make it known that no one messed with her.

Claire knew beyond a doubt that Sylar would hold true to those words until the sun burned them all to ash and the universe collapsed in on itself. In an insane universe it stood that the psychopath was the sanest choice.

A weight she hadn't even realized she had been carrying lifted from her shoulders and she could breathe again. The relief made her dizzy and she needed something to hold on to, something strong, something tangible, and there he was.

In one moment the scary villain died and something new stood in front of her.

A knight in shining Armani and all she wanted to do was give her new champion a kiss.

That would, of course, have probably freaked them both out, so she did the next best thing. She gave him a hug and her forgiveness.

As she wrapped her arms around him, all animosity melted away to reveal the quite startling sexual attraction that had been cleverly hidden underneath.

She hugged him because he was her hero, she let it linger because her hero happened to be damn hot and smelled almost edible.

And now that the hate and anger and fear had gone all she was left with was the bewildering urge to plaster herself to him and demand that they try that kiss again but this time without the pencil-in-the-eye ending.

She'd be lying if she said that she had never thought of him like that, even when she hated his guts, but now that the hate was gone she could allow free reign and her hormones sat up, thanked her and proceeded to beg.

She flashed him a quick smile and poked him with her foot. "I think that's adorable."

The pout vanished as if it had never been there and he regarded her with no little curiosity.

"Really?"

She nodded once and turned back to Peter who was giving her the oddest look. She poked her tongue out at him.

"Mature."

"Says the one who wondered if he could a free toy with his pizza."

"Speaking of which," Peter said as the doorbell rang, "that was good timing. I hope they remembered the extra slaw."

Emma shuddered and Sylar just shrugged.

"Don't look at me, for some reason I was craving Mexican. Again. It's weird I keep getting these random urges for Tacos."

And it was weird. As Gabriel his mother had always cooked plain food and his tolerance for spices wasn't really that high but just recently he had been craving Tacos at the oddest time. Usually when he was with Claire.

"I've not eaten a Taco in... a while," Claire said softly. "Tacos always remind me of Nathan."

Oh. OH!

Sylar winced and looked away. Of course it did and that was why the two were linked in his head.

When he'd received all of Nathan's memories courtesy of Matt Parkman he'd gained the entire vacation in Mexico with Claire, including all of their conversations and emotional outbursts. One memory that stood out clearly was him and Claire- Nathan and Claire- standing in a rundown motel and him offering to buy her a Taco.

Claire had informed him, quite brutally and quite accurately, that he had no money.

When he'd become Nathan it had been a standing joke between them for him to buy her a Taco and say "And this time I paid for it with my money." It had been an in-joke that the two of them shared, a sweet teasing that no one else understood.

He'd forgotten that it wasn't joke she would want to share with the man who'd killed her father.

Sylar bit his lip. "Sorry."

Claire shrugged. "It's okay."

But it wasn't. He was trying to get her to see him as more than a murderer and that probably wasn't being helped by reminding her who it was he had murdered.

He took a deep breath.

"I didn't mean to remind you of him-"

"You don't," she quickly interrupted. "Logically I know that for the last few months that I saw him, it was really you. But in my head, and my heart, that was Nathan." Claire frowned slightly, peering at Emma who was reading the back of the DVD and was oblivious to their conversation. "I got to spend time with my bio-dad and really get to know him. I know during those months y-he wanted to spend more time with me. We got to be great friends and I'm … grateful for that. Looking back now I'm not sure that would have happened if it was really Nathan, you know?"

Sylar was certain that that never would have happened.

Nathan Petrelli was a grade A asshole and a selfish one to boot. His whole life had revolved around himself and he had thought nothing of turning on his nearest and dearest in an effort to further his career or to satisfy his own twisted delusions of grandeur. Claire had been a mistake, an embarrassment, and then a curiosity. It was only towards the end of his life that he had wished to get to know her as a person. Sylar had taken that burgeoning interest and coupled it with his own intense but latent desire to have Claire as his own and used it as a basis for being the father she should have had.

He had made a damn good dad.

He'd make an even better husband.

But he wasn't going to mention that to Claire just yet, he'd have centuries to steel himself against the rejection.

"He cared for you," Sylar said slowly, "but I don't think he really had any idea how to be a good father for you."

She gave him a lopsided smile and poked him with her foot again. "It's okay. And no sad face, okay. It's all water under that bridge."

"i_That_/i bridge?" he asked curiously.

"The bridge we're building to get over the water that is under the bridge..." Claire frowned, "and now that saying makes no sense." She hefted a sigh and shrugged. "Our bridge."

"Eloquent."

Claire reached underneath her seat and, before Sylar could do more than open his mouth to apologize, she hit him in the face with a cushion.

"Hah!" Peter crowed as he walked in carrying the pizza boxes. "Dude, that totally serves you right."

Sylar twitched his fingers and the pillow tore from Claire's fingers and smashed into Peter's face. He yelped and dropped the boxes onto the nearest table.

"You nearly ended up with smooshed pizza," he complained and Sylar rolled his eyes. With another twitch the boxes rose off the table and danced around Peter's head.

Peter frowned. "Show-off."

"No, this is showing off." With a smug grin Sylar concentrated and one of the lids flipped opened in mid-air and one single slice of pepperoni slapped onto Peter's forehead.

Red sauce dripped down his face and dripped onto his chin.

Both Claire and Emma cracked up as the dark-haired man scrubbed at the tomato stain on his temple.

"Jerk."

The pizzas came to rest on the coffee table, open and sliced, ready for eating and Sylar leaned forward to grab his plate.

"You're just jealous that you don't have my precision."

"Or psychosis."

Sylar saluted him with the plate. "There is that."

"Can we have less sarcasm and more exploding stuff please," Claire added quickly, "on screen exploding, not like pizza bomb."

* * *

"Spoil sport," Peter complained but reached over and flicked the remote.

Sylar had never really been one for watching TV. Virginia Grey thought that they were the devil's invention for laziness and demons- until she discovered soap operas and changed her opinion quite dramatically. But Gabriel had never bothered with television. He loved reading, that was his escapism, and he preferred to live in his own fantasy world rather than watch one that someone else had created. Later on in life he bought himself a television just to drown out the silence in his shop and became quite addicted to science fiction shows.

But, as Sylar, he had no need of watching other people having these fantastic adventures since his own life was quite exciting enough. Why bother escaping when he was having too much fun. He also spent a hell of a lot of time on the run and that tended to cut into prime viewing time.

Of course, once he'd returned from exile and started living with Peter, he had discovered that there was little his friend liked more than to zone out in front of the box.

He was getting quite the education in romantic comedies and awful horror movies from Peter who, as it turned out, had quite appalling taste in film.

Usually he manged an hour or two and then had to go and do something productive in case his mind started to atrophy.

But, at this precise moment in time, he had no intention of moving- ever again if he could help it.

Once the pizza was gone and the beers were opened, the cookies and popcorn had come out and one movie turned into two.

Claire had gotten up to use the facilities at one point and when she came back she settled herself in the center of the couch in order to better reach the popcorn.

Sylar grinned to himself as she no longer shied away from the brief touches of their hands in the bowl or the way she no longer sat on the opposite side of the room.

The shadows lengthened and all talk ceased as Emma wrapped herself around Peter on the floor and they cuddled up to watch the movie.

Sylar had been invested in the exploits of the caped crusader and the frankly amazing performance of the Joker when he had felt something delicate touch his shoulder.

He turned his head slightly and met Claire's sleepy eyes as she lay her head on his shoulder.

Sylar stopped breathing.

She gave him a small smile and turned her attention back to the screen, her body leaning more heavily against him. She was a warm weight against his side, soft and pliant and completely relaxed.

He just hoped that she was too sleepy to see exactly what her proximity was doing to him.

He didn't dare move, every inch of his body warning him that she was half-asleep, that she wasn't aware of what she was doing and that, if he moved, she'd suddenly wake and move away.

He'd cut off his own arm before allowing that.

He remained still, trying to keep his breathing shallow, which was remarkably difficult because this close he was ensnared by her clean scent and wanted to breathe deeply.

He could no longer focus on the screen, the Joker could have french kissed Batman and he wouldn't have noticed, all his attention was on the girl resting against him.

Claire twitched slightly and her head rolled slightly off his shoulder as she moved. She shuffled back slightly and tried again but even Sylar could tell that she wasn't in the most stable of places, or the most comfortable of positions.

She was tiny and she was leaning slightly up to rest her head on his shoulder, it had to be giving her a crick in the neck.

His mind raced as he thought that through; if she got too uncomfortable, she might just decide that the other end of the sofa was more inviting and she'd move and he'd lose this moment forever. If, however, he tried to shift to make her more comfortable she might rouse enough to want to edge away.

Sylar swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and prayed that he wasn't about to do the stupidest thing he had ever done.

He shifted slightly, rolling his hips and slouching lower on the couch before lifting his arm.

And Claire, wonderful, forgiving, sweet, sleepy Claire, ducked under his arm and tucked herself against his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist.

She muttered deep in her throat and snuggled into him.

He had Claire in his arms.

Sylar had died and gone to heaven.

He finally had Claire willingly touching him, holding him, and nothing had ever felt so right.

He stared down at the sleepy girl and marveled at the capriciousness of the universe. After all he had done, for fate to give him this was just amazing.

Something had changed since this morning in the office, somehow she had more than forgiven him, more than offered him a second chance. She had accepted him, as a man, as a friend and it was a gift so precious it made his head spin.

He lifted his hand, absently noting its slight tremor, and draped it over her tiny one, anchoring it in place.

With a sigh of contentment he gave all his attention to the beauty fast asleep just over the heart that belonged only to her.

* * *

Peter stretched as the credits rolled out and the main menu scrolled back around. He grinned at the gently snoring Emma who had fallen asleep in his lap. He traced her earlobe and felt her shiver slightly against him. The temperature had dropped slightly and he reached behind him to grab the blanket he kept over the back of the chair.

Draping it over her, he settled back, half turning to address the room's other occupants only to freeze at the sight.

Claire was curled up against Sylar's chest, her eyes closed, her dark lashes making little half moons against her sun kissed cheeks. Sylar was gently stroking his fingers through her hair, his attention fixated on the strands as they fell like silk through his fingers.

He looked... enraptured, like a man who had found the meaning of life and couldn't quite believe that it belonged to him.

Right now he knew that if he offered Sylar the world in exchange for this one moment in time, Sylar would throw it back in his face.

They looked so perfect together, so peaceful and they just seemed to fit. If only Claire could understand that in her hands she held the most fragile and beautiful heart and soul the world had ever seen. If only she knew just what Sylar would do for her.

But, thought Peter as he stared at the man engrossed in the girl, maybe she was beginning to understand.

Maybe there was hope.

Sensing Peter's eyes on him, Sylar looked up and Peter opened his mouth to share his observation.

But his comment died on his lips as Sylar's tears of pure wonder glistened in the moonlit room.

He already knew.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

She came around slowly, life and consciousness returning to her in degrees. She was warm and she felt safe and content. There was a steady thrum in her veins, a drum beat of security and a wonderful smell surrounding her.

She was anchored fast against something warm and hard and it was a familiar feeling, reminding her of waking up wrapped in her dad's arms, knowing full well that she was safe and that she was loved.

But it didn't smell anything like her dad and she breathed deeply inhaling as much as she could. She could smell sandalwood and spice and something that was essentially male.

A specific male; Sylar.

Claire remembered coming to Peter's for a movie night and feeling very sleepy. She'd leaned against Sylar (who hadn't seemed to mind) and then...

ah.

Apparently she'd fallen asleep on him. The thought of curling up against the ex-serial killer made her grin inwardly. The Claire Bennet of a year ago would have been horrified at the very thought, the Claire Bennet of a month ago would have claimed it as impossible. This Claire Bennet was very cozy and quite pleased to find herself in this predicament thank you very much.

Sylar was exceptionally comfortable and smelled delicious.

She could feel his hand heavy on her head, like he had been stroking her hair and had lulled himself to sleep and Claire felt the urge to purr like a cat and rub herself against his...

Her eyes widened.

Okay, perhaps it was time to wake him up.

She allowed herself several more seconds, luxuriating in the feeling of being held before she opened her eyes.

She had twisted in her sleep so that she was laying against his chest with one ear over his heart facing him.

He looked so different with his defenses down and without his usual aura of intensity. Relaxed and unaware he looked younger somehow, innocent and deceptively sweet.

His lashes were impossibly long, casting dark half moons against his cheeks. His hair was tousled and sticking up in random spikes. It was cute, adorable, and ridiculously sexy.

Claire sighed. It really wasn't fair that he was just so attractive. Maybe she could have stayed mad at him for longer if it wasn't for his puppy-dog eyes and the way his lower lip pouted when he was hurt. Still, she'd given it her best shot, and when a guy who looked like he did told her that he would protect her forever and i_meant/i_ it- well, she was only human.

Mostly.

Sylar twitched in his sleep, his nose wrinkling like a little boy and his eyes fluttered open. He frowned slightly as if puzzling where he was and Claire held her breath.

He stiffened slightly and his eyes darted down to meet hers.

A slow, tender smile crept over his face.

"Hey," she murmured softly.

"Hey yourself," he offered back, his voice rough with sleep. "Sleep well?"

She bit her lower lip. "Like a baby. You're very comfortable."

"Glad I could be of service," his eyes sparkled.

Claire gave a little laugh. "I'm not apologizing for using you as a pillow."

His eyes darkened slightly as he leaned forward, trapping her gaze with his. "I wouldn't accept it since it seems I've been using you as my own teddy bear, a Claire-bear," he winced, "that sounded creepy didn't it?"

"No, it sounded-," she paused, "okay, maybe a little creepy."

His arm tightened, like he wanted to hold her for longer but he drew back and glanced up. Light crept in under the closed curtains dousing the room in a diffused orange glow, proclaiming that it was daytime.

Claire stretched like a cat, subtly aware of Sylar watching her as her spine arched. She glanced at her watch.

"Seven. Breakfast time."

Sylar nodded once and then bit his lip, darting a glance towards the kitchen. "If you don't have plans for this morning I could rustle us up something. I make mean waffles?"

His tone was hesitant, like he expected her to reject him immediately and she felt a pang of guilt.

Last month she would have done so, without a qualm.

She really had been a bitch to him, turning down all of his attempts at building those bridges, telling herself that he had a hidden agenda and was only trying to- what?

She still wasn't sure what she'd imagined his ulterior motives to be, she only knew that she'd thought he'd had them.

Although, to be honest, it wasn't without reason. He had terrorized and stalked and killed members of her family and close friends and she had been well within her rights to hate him.

But hate took so much energy and, really, she was only hurting herself. By forgiving him she had let all of that go. Hate had blinded her to the fact that Sylar was no longer the psychotic murderer with a superiority complex, he was a man.

A man who embodied all that Claire needed and wanted in a partner.

She'd needed someone to trust, someone who would never leave her, never lie to her. Someone who could protect and help her but allow her to grow and be herself; someone who loved her for herself.

She needed someone strong and capable of great power but who would let himself be vulnerable for her.

Like someone who vowed to protect her to time indefinite but secretly worried that she wouldn't want to eat with him.

Ironically enough, the man she had sworn to hate forever was the one man she now wanted with her until the Earth burned. Wasn't life funny.

Now all she had to do was figure a way to make him see that, to make him want her.

Claire propped herself up on her elbow and gave him her best secretive smile. "No."

His face fell. "Right, you probably have plans and-"

He stopped dead as she reached over and placed a finger on his lips. "Shh, Peter and Emma are still asleep. I say we let them lay in and you and me go out. I'll take that lunch rain check and cash it in for breakfast. If you want?"

His smile could have started small fires. "You have to ask?"

Claire shrugged one shoulder. "You might be sick of me, after all we did spend the night together." she waggled her eyebrows.

Sylar choked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Claire giggled and yanked herself up off him. "Come on, I'll freshen up then we can go eat."

* * *

The cafe wasn't crowded, despite it being the breakfast rush and they were able to get pretty good seats towards the back against the window. Sylar had been on the run and full of quite legitimate paranoia for so long that he couldn't sit with his back towards the entrance and had to have a full visual of each and every exit.

Claire had been brought up by Noah Bennet who was, above all else, a consummate expert in paranoid behavior and found nothing odd at all in Sylar's insistence on having that particular seat.

It made her smile.

Sylar slid in opposite her and noted every customer, every entrance and exit and possible escape route. Then he noticed her expression.

"What?"

Claire unfolded her menu and tried to hide the smirk.

"Claire?"

"You won't appreciate the comparison, but you remind me of my dad."

His expression shuttered. "Nathan?"

Claire shook her head. "No, my other dad. He does that thing you do, checking out threats and putting himself in the line of fire rather than me. One time I swear he even checked under the water glasses to make sure there were no bugs or something."

Sylar widened his eyes and stared in horrified fascination at the water glasses. He extended his hand slowly and tilted the base with exaggerated care, making Claire laugh out loud.

"I swear if you guys didn't hate each other so much you'd get on."

"Now that," Sylar said, "is a truly scary thought. Me and Noah Bennet BFF's."

Claire choked but Sylar tilted his head thoughtfully.

"You know, that could have happened. If Noah had come in to check on me, take me under his wing rather than let Elle-" he trailed off for a moment. "He'd have become my mentor, I'd have been his 'one of them' and maybe we'd have been friends. I would have been invited around to tea, met his wife, his daughter, his son. Mr Muggles."

Claire could have seen the way that would have gone. Fifteen year old Claire coming home to find her dad's friend coming to dinner. Her mother would have been all weirdly excited that someone her father worked with was coming over. She'd make Claire and Lyle clear up and wash up and sit down to wait and then Sylar would have walked in with his slicked back hair and dark looks and fifteen year old Claire would have developed her very first crush.

She blushed.

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Okay, I have to know about that thought. A penny isn't enough, right?"

Claire was about to deny everything but changed her mind, he had never lied to her, maybe it was time to be just as open with him. Besides maybe it would help her to see if their bridge was open for business.

She slid him a coy glance. "I was just thinking that if I met you at fifteen, and you hadn't tried to kill me, I might have had a crush on you."

He gaped. "On me?"

Claire shrugged. His incredulity was a little unflattering.

"Seriously?"

"Oh come on," she blurted, "you know you're attractive. Sharp suit and you can be charming when you try. I would have just melted."

Sylar smiled. He often smiled- well, smirked- and Claire had seen myriads of his smiles. There was the I've-just-killed-someone smile, the I'm-going-to-kill-_you_ smile, the I'm-redeemed-honest smile, the hopeful smile, the hope-I-haven't-just-put-my-foot-in-it smile, the guilty smile, the amused smile, the sheepish smile, the sardonic smile but this one was just... real.

It was a real honest to god I-am-happy smile and Claire found herself melting in a way that would have made her fifteen year old self proud.

"Thank you," he said, honestly flattered. "But I doubt it. I looked a little different back then."

Claire cocked her head and opened her mouth to ask when the waiter came to take their order. Sylar looked as if he hoped that she'd forget that line of inquiry but she was her father's daughter and pinned him with a look as soon as the menu's were taken away.

"How different?"

He took a deep breath. "Let's just say that you would have had no trouble believing I worked for a paper company."

Claire grinned. "What? Pocket protector, clipboard?"

He gave a one shouldered shrug. "Maybe something like that."

He leaned across the table. "So how are you enjoying work?"

"Oh no!" Claire laughed and grabbed his arm. "No way are you blowing me off that easy. Spill."

He regarded her for a long minute. "Okay, Claire. I'll tell you if you answer something for me too. Honestly."

She sighed. "Your hair looks fine."

"Good to know, but that wasn't it. I'm not Peter."

"Okay, so what do you want to know?"

He gnawed his lower lip. "Why did you decided to forgive me?"

Claire blinked. Now that was a question and a half. Why had she decided in that one minute that all was forgiven? She frowned a little and tried to gather her thoughts.

"I want to say because you promised to protect me and be there for me forever, but that's not it entirely." She grabbed a sugar packet and started to play with it, avoiding his eyes. "I want to say its because eternity is a long time to hate someone or that you earned it or it was time. It's all of that and more and none of it." Claire sighed in frustration, a furrow in her brow. "I guess... I just...needed to."

She looked up. "I tried to hate you and that got old fast and you were right; one day everyone we know will be gone and it'll be you and me and," she smiled, "I'm okay with that. I can't hold a grudge forever so why try? I guess it all boils down to the fact that I just wanted to. I don't know if that's what you want to hear but that's it. Is-is that what you were after?"

He slowly nodded. "Whatever the reason, Claire, I'm glad. I just wanted to know why now? Why not in ten years when you're less pissed or when something else happens?"

Claire shifted back in her chair. "I've been forgiving you for a while, Sylar. I told you that I no longer hated you. I wanted to, don't get me wrong. Boy, did I want to hate you. But... you're actually hard to hate." Claire grinned suddenly. "For one you're funny, it's hard to be mad at someone who makes you laugh. And you can be ridiculously charming."

A faint redness spread over his cheeks and she laughed in delight.

"And you blush which is adorable."

"I don't blush," he muttered looking away.

"Oh okay," she teased, "but seriously. I couldn't hate you and that left either being indifferent to you or trying to build those bridges."

And indifference would only have worked if he hadn't been so damned hot. Not that she was going to tell him that, of course.

"After I stopped looking for reasons to hate you, I saw what you were actually doing to atone and forgiveness kinda came easy. Ish. Easy-ish."

Sylar stared at her for a long minute and then nodded again. She wished she knew what he was thinking but he just smiled. "Thank you, Claire."

"You're welcome, now it's your turn."

He feigned ignorance. "My turn?"

"Sylar. The original. Come on."

He swallowed and looked down at the sugar packet she had discarded. "My real name is Gabriel Gray."

Claire blinked. "Seriously."

"Did you never read my file?" he cocked his head curiously. "I know that you stole some of Noah's once."

"No. Dad had your file under lock and key and it was encrypted."

"If it was under lock and key how do you know it was encrypted?" He raised an eyebrow at her impish look.

"Hair pins are not just for amazing hair do's, I learned to lock pick early."

"Industrious."

"Nosy," she corrected. "Anyhow a lot of your file was blacked out. I guess my dad didn't trust any of us."

The thought still made her sad. Her father had the file under lock and key and encrypted and he still assumed that they were not to be trusted. He was right as it turned out, but that didn't stop it from hurting any the less. Things still weren't right between her and her dad. She loved him, as much as any daughter loved her father. But the things he had done and the lies he had told and, probably, continued to tell, were just too much.

How can you love someone when you never knew if they were telling the truth.

She was glad that her father had Lauren because, after her mother and Lyle had left, Noah really didn't have anyone else. But Lauren was a company girl through and through and Claire was worried that she was making Noah Bennet even more ruthless than before.

If that were even possible.

"So," she said abruptly, trying to get her mind back on track, "Gabriel Gray huh? Your parents were big on alliteration."

"I don't know. I don't remember my mother. And my biological father... isn't the type of person you could ask." Sylar frowned. "This isn't the conversation I wanted to have today, too heavy."

Claire agreed. She'd just wanted to tease and attempt to flirt with him, see if he responded. She changed the tone. "Yeah, I wanna know about this pocket protector."

He smirked, appreciating her efforts. "I was a watchmaker, Claire. I wore glasses and sweater sets and parted my hair. I was a nerd."

Her eyes danced as she tried to picture big bad Sylar as a nerd. "No way."

"Yep." He sat back. "Full card carrying member of the geek squad. I loved talk radio and classical music and couldn't speak to girls if my life depended on it." He inclined his head. "until it did, of course."

"I still think you would have looked adorable."

He groaned good-naturedly. "I'm a man, Claire. No guy wants to be told that he's adorable."

Claire giggled. "Aww poor Sylar, from big bad evil to fluffy cutie in one move."

His look of sheer disgust sent her into peels of laughter.

"I appreciate the props, Claire, but please don't confuse me with Mr. Muggles."

"Why not," she said without thinking, "I let him sleep in my bed."

The second the words were out of her mouth she closed her eyes, slamming a hand over her lips.

"Oh my god," she muttered against her palm, mortification written all over her face, "I can't believe I just said that."

"Me neither," Sylar murmured.

She buried her face in her hands. "Where's Samuel Sullivan when you need him?"

Sylar laughed. "I wondered that yesterday. See, Claire, I told you we had a lot in common."

She opened one eye. "I guess we do at that." She shook her head, eager to change the subject. "I've gotta have had my quota for putting my foot in my mouth. But, ya know, I can actually do that since I'm very flexible. Part of being a cheerleader."

"Or you could cut off your foot to put in your mouth."

She frowned. "Maybe something a little less permanent."

Sylar grinned. "Is this your way of trying to make me forget your last comment."

No. Not at all. Damn.

"Yes." She replied brightly. "Is it working?"

"No," Sylar said leaning forwards, "Can I sleep in your bed?"

Claire blushed. Well this was all kinds of embarrassing. Time to take a lesson from Jackie's book. When on the spot, go on the offensive.

"Why?" she challenged. "Did you want to sleep in my bed?"

He smirked, upping the ante. "Depends, are you in it?"

She fought the flush rising again. She stuck her tongue between her teeth and brazened it out. "Do you want me in it?"

"Yes."

The playful, teasing tone gave way to sheer brutal honesty tinged with dark need. Claire shuddered as the timbre of his voice flooded through her.

Her smile dropped as they locked gazes, the rest of the world disappearing until it was just the two of them.

Claire's future stretched before her in that instant and she could see myriads of moments like this, sitting in a cafe, walking down the street, waiting for a bus, all things that a normal girl would do, with a guy who would be with her forever.

She swallowed hard and opened her mouth, prepared to let her heart lead the way.

"Yes."

He hadn't realized that the word had tumbled out of his mouth until it was too late but, now said, he didn't want to take it back; wasn't sure if he could.

It was the truth. He wanted Claire in his bed.

He also wanted her up against the wall, in the shower and on the kitchen table, but there was honesty and then there was just plain greedy.

But she had been flirting and his mind, heart and mouth had just run away with him. Without exception this had been the best day of his life and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. He'd awoken with Claire in his arms, smiling up at him like a debauched angel. She hadn't freaked out, hadn't screamed and called him a pervert. She'd been playful and sweet and had even offered- instigated- breakfast.

And she had been flirting with him. Claire Bennet had been flirting with him so badly that his imagination had taken leaps and landed him firmly on the side of hope.

He looked across the table and met her gaze unflinchingly. Yes, he had said yes. Now what was she going to do? Would she push back or would she call it quit, chicken out of their little game.

Not that it was a game any longer, but did she know that?

His gaze tracked her tongue as it swept over her lower lip and she leaned forwards.

"Because I'm a smoking hot cheerleader?" she tried for teasing but it came out seductive and husky, a lust tinged drawl that had him tensing, refusing to back down.

"No. Because you're Claire."

The atmosphere between the two of them swelled, thickened and the tension hummed in the air. Her eyes were hooded, pupils wide and eyes full of promise.

Perfect little teeth bit down on her plump lip before she opened her mouth.

The sudden buzz and tremble coming from his shirt pocket made them both jump and startled them.

The mood was broken and Claire looked away.

"G-dammit, son of a-," Sylar swore as he reached into his pocket, yanking out his cell phone. It was Peter's caller I.D and Sylar cursed his 'best friend' up and down and sideways and spent precious seconds imagining Peter handcuffed to the Empire State building whilst someone threw peanuts at him.

He hit accept and growled.

"Someone better be dead."

"... bad time?"

Sylar glanced apologetically at Claire. "If this isn't life threatening, Peter, I'm hanging up."

"It is."

Sylar rolled his eyes. Of course it was. He'd finally caught a break with Claire so, of course, cosmic Karma insisted that he pay for it. Bastard.

"Fine," he sighed. "Explain."

"I just got a call from Sam. Apparently Luke tried to incinerate him."

Sylar closed his eyes, forcing a tight reign on the never-ending pain in his ass who had foiled his plans with Claire not once but twice in two days.

He wished he had never heard the name Luke bloody Campbell. As it was he was planning on scaring the little shit more than a little the next time he saw him.

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll head over there now."

"Okay, sorry buddy. I know you're with Claire and I wouldn't have called unless it was an emergency."

"Yeah."

"Was it a really bad time?"

Sylar looked across to the still pink ex-cheerleader who was sitting nonchalantly across from him like the moment had never happened.

"Like you wouldn't believe. You're a bee in my collar, Scully."

Peter got the_ X files _reference. "Ouch. Sorry."

"Yeah," Sylar flipped his phone shut and gave Claire a weak smile.

"Rain check?"

"Problem?" Claire cocked her head.

He nodded. "Apparently Luke isn't playing as nice as I hoped."

Claire gave him a short laugh. "Seriously, the kid tried to burn a hole through my arm, you figured him for a sanity award?"

"No," he replied honestly, "I figured he'd be too scared of me to screw up so early."

Figured, hoped. He didn't want to have to 'eradicate' Luke, but if he couldn't even behave after nearly being fried by Sylar, what chance did he have?

Claire gnawed on her lower lip. "So what are you gonna do?"

He rubbed his eyes again. "No idea, but I better get over there now before one of them dies." He grabbed the jacket he'd slung over the back of the chair and got to his feet. "Want me to walk you back to your apartment?"

Claire said nothing and he looked over at her in concern. She was staring at him oddly, like she was trying to figure something out.

"Claire?" He prompted and she shook her head slowly, grabbing her own jacket.

"No. I'm coming with you."

He blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah," she grabbed her bag. "Yesterday you nearly went supernova on the kid and, as much as I think he deserves to be electrocuted, I really need to come with you."

Sylar felt something slice in his chest and he fought not to let it show. "You don't trust me?"

She looked up surprised. "Of course I do. If you flash-fry the little jerk I want front row seats.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 (Did someone ask for action?)

Two hours earlier.

Sam Wexham, known to a select few as a "The Dungeon Master", faced off against his evil nemesis. The road to Melgravia had been long and paved with death and his innocence had long since been lost along the way. His companions had left him one by one through disease, death or desertion until he stood alone at the foot of the Great Citadel, knowing full well that hoards of the undead waited inside, desperate to devour him.

He would battle through them, though, and slay all who stood in his path, despite being exhausted and alone. His power was great.

But the Black Warlord defied all tradition and met him at the gates, hurling the bruised, battered and very scantily clad Princess down like a challenge.

He wrapped his dark cloak around himself and raised his thick black eyebrows at the Black Warlord; a man he'd once called brother.

The Warlord smirked. "Oh, sorry did you want her unharmed? You are a little late for that. But then you always were tardy _brother_." He spat the appellation out, like it was a cancer on his tongue.

"And you were always destined for evil," The Dungeon Master replied coolly. He did not let his eyes fall to the beautiful Princess, knowing that the sight of her injuries would enrage him and he would be emotionally compromised. He had to use all of his Vulcanian training to remain detached, even while his heart screamed at him to protect the girl.

"At least I had a goal," the Warlord scoffed. "And now I have ultimate power."

"Not quite," the Dungeon Master reached deep inside himself and pulled at the reserve of power he had painstakingly learned and he reached out a hand glowing white hot.

The Warlord flinched. It was slight but The Dungeon Master saw it and reveled in the real fear he saw there.

"So, you learned the ways of the Old Ones?" he mocked. "Well done, but can you wield it, little brother?"

"We shall see."

Without another word the Dungeon Master spun a golden fireball from the end of his fingers. It twisted and smashed into the rocks above the Warlord's head, showering him with shards of slate, each a jagged weapon in their own right.

The Warlord simply held up a hand and a blue ionic shield surrounded him, the shards bouncing off harmlessly.

"Is that all you've got?" he laughed.

"I'm just getting started," the Dungeon Master said, gathering his power.

_"God I hope not, because this looks like it could go on for a while."_

The strident sarcastic voice wrong footed the daring warrior for a moment but he pushed the distraction away.

He whipped a spell towards the dark wizard and it raised those shards, turning each one into a poisonous viper, with fangs sharper than a sword forged in the fires of Greyskull.

_"Greyskull, seriously?"_

The Dungeon Master gritted his teeth.

The vipers rose and hissed at the evil wizard. The Black Warlord backed up, his ionic shield faltering as the vipers gnawed through the magical boundary like it was paper. The Warlord gripped his staff firmly and pointed it at the creatures, muttering some words in the Old Language. Fire poured from his staff, enveloping the serpents in red hot flames. They screamed as they baked, their skin scorching and internal organs boiling inside their skins.

"A child's trick," his nemesis glowered. "Here's something I've been working on."

The Warlord flung out his hand and blue bolt slammed into his shoulder. A cold slither began to creep through him, dancing up his veins and into his heart.

"Like it?" the Warlord crowed. "It's a spell of my own devising. It literally turns your heart to ice. Pretty soon you won't care about the Princess, or your people or anything anymore. You'll become just like ice and then," he smirked, "you'll shatter."

_"Seriously, that's his plan? He's gonna make you hard and unfeeling. Big deal. Here's what I don't understand. With your amazing powers, how come you don't have his underwear turn to snakes and, like, bite his ass. One fang to his john and he won't be doing jack."_

Sam glared over his shoulder. "Shut up."

Luke smirked. "Sorry didn't mean to disrupt your mojo. Carry on, magic-boy."

Sam turned back to his arch enemy. "Your powers will not work against me, no magic of darkness can overpower a force like love."

"Just to clarify, you know you are never getting laid, right?"

"Oh for Gorgon's sake!" Sam threw his hands up and turned around, his fantasy world completely vanishing. He put his hands on his hips and glared at his new room mate. "What are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you stay in your room and I stay in mine?"

Luke smirked. "What, no bonding time?"

Sam clenched his teeth and counted backwards from ten in Klingon.

Ever since he'd gotten his powers he'd dreamed of somewhere to belong. He'd dreamed of a group who would accept him and, luck or fate or Karma, he'd met Peter and Sylar who had given him a purpose and were showing him how to control his abilities and use them for good. He was soaring ahead in the program and was due to go up a level-maybe even start Agent Training. All he'd wanted to do last night was come back and relax. Instead he'd been met by Peter and Sylar who had asked him to share his space with someone else; a new recruit.

Sam had thought that maybe it would be someone like him, another misfit teen who'd had trouble with school.

And girls.

And, you know, human interaction.

He'd imagined a friend, a kin; someone who knew their Thor from their Thundercats, someone who knew Bad Wolf from Bad Horse and would look up to him as a mentor- his very own Anakin.

Instead they'd shown up with Luke.

A tall, skinny, socially maladjusted delinquent with delusions of grandeur and a vicious streak that outmatched his intelligence. A thick bully, a Jerry Springer reject; the result of a unnatural union between a Valley girl and a leek.

Not what he was expecting but Peter had asked him to do this and so Sam took a deep breath, introduced himself and it all kinda went downhill from there.

Luke obviously resented being housed with him, if his attempt at an incendiary handshake was any indication. Sylar cuffed him around the back of the head and told Sam to put ice on his palm.

They'd forced polite conversation until Peter and Sylar left and then stared at each other in distaste.

"I use to beat kids like you up for their lunch money." Luke drawled, eying Sam's slight frame.

"And, evidently, it's led to a fine lifestyle for you," Sam muttered, his own eyes drifting over Luke's tattered clothes quickly before hurtling back to the game he was painstakingly writing.

"What was that?" Luke demanded and Sam felt himself twitch; a instinctive response for nerd everywhere. It was the 'duck and cover' response, useful for getting out of wedgies, noogies and being shoved into your own locker.

"Nothing," he'd added. "I'm guessing you're tired. You can take the back bedroom and...uh..."

Luke just smirked and walked away from him, leaving Sam with gritted teeth and the inbuilt desire to turn tail and hide... or make the carpet eat Luke whole- he could do that.

The edge of the rug twitched before Sam got himself under control.

"With great power comes great responsibility" he sighed and went back to his room.

He hadn't even seen Luke this morning, which was kinda the way he liked it. He'd ignored the scuff marks on the kitchen table and the wet towels on the floor in the bathroom and the coffee rings on the glass surface. But it seemed Luke had decided to be extra annoying and enter his inner sanctum, the one place that Sam could be himself.

Plus he'd totally ruined the fantasy.

"Did you want something?" Other than the entire contents of my snack cupboard? Sam groused.

Luke shrugged, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. "So what's your power, nerd?"

Sam took a deep breath. "It's... complicated."

Luke scoffed, shifting slightly, he leaned one foot back against the frame and his body shifted like he was going to fall before he quickly righted himself. He tilted his head back and gave Sam what seemed like an amused glance.

It looked more...pained.

Sam frowned. "You know there are cereals with fiber in if you have a problem. My dad had IBS."

Luke scowled.

"No seriously, every diet needs more than junk food if you're going to be regular."

"What are you driveling about?"

Sam bit his lip. "Aren't you in pain?"

"No."

"Then why are you standing like that?"

Luke dropped his foot to the floor, his face flushing. "Shut up."

Sam just shrugged. This guy had some serious issues. "Whatever."

"I don't know why Sy sent me to you anyway, its obvious that you're a loser," Luke's eyes flickered around the room,. Taking in the posters and action figures and science fiction memorabilia. He walked over to the cabinet containing some of Sam's collectables. "I mean what the hell is a Serenity?"

"It's a collectible model ship from _Firefly_, a sadly truncated show by Joss- no, don't touch that!"

But Luke had opened up the cabinet and lifted the model ship.

"Hate to tell you this, nerdlet, but someone's written on it."

"It's signed," Sam bit out, lurching over and dancing from foot to foot in nerves as Luke swept it through the air, "by Nathan Fillion and Jewel Stait and Joss Almigh- I mean, Joss Whedon himself. Please be careful with it!"

The smirk on Luke's face grew nasty. "You freaking cuz I might break your toy?"

"That toy is a limited edition, signed piece of memorabilia and is probably worth more than this apartment."

Luke was incredulous. "This piece of s—oops."

"Oops, OOPS, what oops?" Sam's voice somehow managed to pitch even higher. "No oops, what did you do?"

Luke laughed and held up the model in his palms. "Chill out, it's not broken."

Sam tore the ship out of his hands and replaced it gently back the cabinet, securing the lock and turning on his heel. He stomped into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk to calm his nerves.

Luke burnt stuff, he could have incinerated Serenity.

Gorram son of a-

Sam swallowed hard, bile coming into his throat. Why had they put him with someone who was a few lightsabers short of a full Jedi?

He sipped his milk and almost screamed as it burned his lip. He dropped the now frothing glass and it shattered on the floor, boiling milk spilling over the tiles in a lake.

His head whipped around to Luke who was still wearing that annoying smirk.

"What the hell, dude?"

"Warm milk is supposed to be more soothing, I was trying to help."

Sam had known kids like Luke at his school, boys with a reputation of being insane who were into graffiti and vandalism, arson, tormenting animals and poking badgers with spoons.

Mostly he'd stayed away since being... educated made him more of a target but not since he had gained his powers had he actually been scared of them. Luke was no different, sure he could burn things, but deep down he was just another messed up kid looking for attention.

But maybe it wasn't arrogance, maybe it was fear. Fear of being different which was leading him to the dark side.

Sam bit his lip. "I know this situation must be weird for you and I know having abilities can be confusing-"

"Can it," Luke laughed, "your touchy feely bullshit is making me sick. I'm not confused, my powers make me strong, stronger than you anyway, nerd. I can burn through metal, concrete. Hell, given enough time I'm sure I could burn through the earth."

The delight in Luke's voice turned Sam's stomach. He wasn't lost or in pain, he was dangerous.

"You're a villain." Sam said flatly. "You're the Emperor, Khan, Dr. Evil. Why have Peter and Sylar put you here if all you wanna do is hurt people and do bad things?"

"Maybe they don't like you."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Or maybe I'm to show you the error of your ways."

"Try it, nerd." Luke held up his hand and pointed it at Sam's feet. The tiles glowed and began to crack, heat rising in steam piles.

"Stop it," Sam insisted. "Your wrecking the floor."

"Loser." Another tile began to crack and the paint on the edge of the table bubbled and blistered.

"Knock it off."

The milk carton on the table shimmered and melted into a pile of goo, curdled milk exploding over the table and draining down to the floor, a sick parody of blood trickling over the hard wood.

"Stop it! What is wrong with you?"

"Attention deficit."

"That's just another way of saying psychopath. Quit it!"

Luke's eyes were dark and angry and mean. "Make me."

"You asked for it," Sam shot a and towards the tiles at Luke's feet and it cracked in the middle.

Luke raised an eyebrow derisively. "Is that all you-"

The two sides of the cracked tile joined together, pushing up to create a pyramid which grew in size, the ceramic stretching and growing until it was the size of a large dog, the edges as sharp as glass. With a quick twist the tile whipped through the air, spouting legs and a tail and the nastiest set of jagged teeth. The Tile creature snarled silently at Luke.

He stumbled back. "Holy shi-"

The Tile scuffled forward, snapping its jaws with a clack like smashed crockery. Luke kicked out at it as it reached for his trousers.

He slammed his hand down and the Tile screeched as it began to burn, the edges of the ceramic bubbling away. In a red hot glaze it melted, becoming a puddle of red goo.

As the remnants smouldered, Luke fixed his gaze on Sam.

Sam swallowed hard as the boy grinned.

"If I had Sylar's power I'd rip open your head to take that."

"And if I had Sylar's power, they'd be picking you up off the sidewalk right about now. Listen, Lex, this could get ugly fast so what say we just go back to our rooms and ignore each other? Trekkie to Warsian?"

"What did you call me?"

"_Star Trek_ verses _Star Wars,_ long standing feud... never mind," Sam sighed. "Can we just ignore each other, please?"

"Why, you scared because I melted your little floor feature?"

"Hardly."

"Well then," Luke's hand began to glow. "Let's play."

"I'm not doing this with you," Sam decided. "Go play with yourself... except not like that, I've heard it can make you blind."

"Pansy," Luke unleashed his power and the dining room chair evaporated.

"Will you stop doing that?"

"Sure, maybe I'll go and play with some of your dolls, that tall blonde one with the cloak looked like it'd burn easy."

Ice trickled down Sam's spine at the casual way the boy threatened to destroy his prized collection.

"You touch Jareth and I'll destroy you."

"Promise?" Luke stepped towards the bedroom.

The Ironing board leaped off the wall, the metal plate whirring and clacking, it's spindly legs blocking the doorway. The striped cover peeled apart with each stripe whipping into the air, a tendril of steel ready to flay alive any who dared trespass.

Luke raised his hand but one tentacle hurtled through the air, slashing at his wrist. The thin stripe left a welt on Luke's hand and his eyes filled with rage.

He forced his power out, trying to dissolve the board but it was too quick, flicking another tentacle at him, this time slashing his cheek.

Luke screeched in anger and managed to knock the board aside, gaining scant seconds to harness his ability. But even as the ironing board began to sizzle, he was smacked around the head by a long black stick. A wooden block containing what used to be a creamer, spatula and flipper, started to drum on his head; the plastic cooking utensils slapping him silly.

He tore it off and threw it across the room. Three tin-like creatures, round and spilling sugar, coffee and tea-bags, snarled at him from the surface, snapping their lids and managing to look menacing even with their daisy pattern.

Luke turned in a slow circle as the kitchen drawers opened and creatures made from knives slunk ominously from their drawers, a monster sporting a tail made of cord and ending in a plug spouted steam at him and a vacuum started to growl menacingly from inside the cupboard. He turned to

Sam who was holding his hands in the air, every inch the sorcerer he had been playing at being moments ago.

"You picked a dangerous room to piss me off in, nemesis," he said, his voice low and serious.

Luke smiled. "Bring it on."

"Just up here," Sylar reached for the doorknob and half turned to Claire. "I'm glad you're here but you might wanna stay back a bit. If Luke is in a mind to burn you... I don't want you to go through that."

"It won't hurt," Claire said.

Sylar just stared at her for a long moment. "Doesn't matter."

Claire looked away as he smiled slowly, sadly. "What are you gonna do with Luke?"

Sylar sighed. "I have no idea."

Before she could say anything else he held up a hand and pushed the door open. He hunched slightly, as if expecting an attack and crept into the apartment, keeping close to the wall. Claire ducked in behind him, pulling the door to so they'd have a way to escape if needed. Sylar nodded his approval and edged forward, his feet making no sound on the carpet.

There was a faint sound from the kitchen and he moved forwards, keeping his hand raised.

The sight of it chilled Claire slightly, as she knew only too well what that hand was capable of. But she kept back as he motioned to the kitchen door.

He paused for a second bracing himself for what he had to do and pushed open the door quickly.

Standing behind him Claire couldn't see into the kitchen but saw his back freeze.

She immediately thought the worst and hastened around to his side.

She, too, stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her.

It wasn't the state of the kitchen, with utensils and burn marks all around, nor was it the half-charred and melted household items that held her attention. She was caught by the sight of that annoying brat Luke Campbell hog-tied to chair by a long extension cord with a kettle on the other end hissing and spitting at him. A metal trashcan sat gnawing at his sneakers and a can opener kept hiccuping fire at his knees.

There was a long stream of kitchen towel in his mouth stopping him from cursing and spitting at the boy who sat opposite him, a bag of ice held against his cheek.

"Well," Claire said finally, "that's one way of dealing with him."


	20. Chapter 20

sorry its been so long since my last update. I kinda lost the muse for this for a while but am now flying through the next few chapters so you'll get more soon.

Chapter 20

Sam leaned against the kitchen unit clutching a cold cloth to his still burning face.

Sylar ungagged Luke and stood over him glowering.

"What the hell?" Luke spat. "Untie me, Sylar."

Sylar whipped his hand out and Luke rocked back on his chair, his head slamming against the fridge that had tried to eat him only moments ago.

"I don't take orders from you," Sylar growled. "Remember who you're talking to."

Sylar's eyes were dark and reminded Luke that it was only yesterday he had tried to hurt Sylar's friend's niece. The same niece who he was with now. He frowned slightly at his brain tried to put two and two together.

Early morning plus man and woman together plus protective stance meant that he'd probably tried to incinerate Sylar's girlfriend.

Now would be a very good time to back up.

And possibly make a will.

Luke swallowed and nodded quickly. "Sorry."

Sylar held the kitchen towel in his hands and turned to Sam. "What happened here?"

"I... uh..." Sam shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "Uh, is this one of those 'squeal and you lose all respect for me' situations? I'm not very good at reading this kind of stuff."

Claire smiled making Sam flush brightly. "No. Tell us what happened here. We won't judge you."

"Well, okay. I was in my room playing with my minions when Luke interrupted my epic battle."

There was a beat as Claire digested this. "Okay, when I said I wouldn't judge..."

"Claire," Sylar grinned, "carry on, Sam."

"That's just it," Sam whined, "I was minding my own, duking with the Warlord when El Psycho came in and started talking about going Nuclear on my collectables and I ate beans for month to afford ComicCon. I didn't even Cosplay because authenticity costs. And then Luke threatens, like, the world. He goes all Meltman and boils the tiles. I just... reacted."

Claire leaned towards Sylar. "Was any of that in English?"

Sylar nodded. "Luke?"

"Not what happened," Luke said casually. "I tried to talk to nerdlet about his collection of dolls and he totally went off the deep end and I nearly got eaten by a DustVac."

"DustVac?" Sylar raised an eyebrow.

Sam pointed to a red melted pile of goo in one corner. "Alas poor Vac, vanquished in his greatest hour."

Claire eyed Sam dubiously. "Which one are we saving again?"

"Apparently Sam the-" Sylar gave a pained sigh, "-Dungeon Master, can more than take care of himself."

Sam beamed proudly.

"He's a freak," Luke spat, only to freeze in pure terror as Sylar turned to face him, his eyes blazing.

"What have I said about that word, Luke?"

Luke shivered. "Yeah. You didn't tell me that you were rooming me with a... I don't even know what the term is for what he is."

"Special," Claire folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Of course not in the same way you are."

Luke leered at her. "Hey baby, I'm one of a kind."

"If you mean an endangered species then you're quite accurate," Sylar's voice was cold and Luke trembled. "I told you, Luke, you do things my way. In what possible way is this my way?"

Luke frowned. "Uh, the killing people thing was kinda your hallmark."

Sylar opened his mouth.

And closed it.

Damn.

Claire sucked in a breath. "He has a point."

Sam frowned at them. "You killed people?"

Sylar scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I guess you could say I'm... redeeming myself?"

"Like Wolverine?" Sam's eyes lit up. "Forced to kill throughout the centuries but wanting only to be on the side of light?"

"In a way," Sylar hedged.

"More like Angelus," Claire offered, "evil, scary and happy to kill and then he gets sent to hell and is freed and becomes one of the good guys. But there's that underlying sense of menace."

His lips curved up in private amusement as she beamed at him. That was actually a pretty good analogy. An annoying blonde bitch made him into a bad guy. He was forced to kill to control a very real hunger and those five years trapped inside his head were a form of hell. It was all very Angelus and it made him what he was today.

Claire would know better than most exactly how close the monster lay to the surface.

"Pfft," Luke snorted, "so big bad Sylar got laid and gained his soul?"

Sylar snapped and took one step forwards, reaching for Luke's collar.

He was beaten by Sam, however, whose Kettle monster squeezed tightly, cutting the air off to Luke's windpipe.

"That is disgusting!" Sam said, his voice pitching as his temper flared. "God, you can be so juvenile."

Luke gagged and slammed his feet against the floor.

"Hey!" Claire laid her hand on Sam's arm. "If you kill him, I won't be able to slap him and I really, really want to hit him."

Sam nodded and the cord loosened. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Not ma'am. I'm Claire."

Sam's eyes widened. "Claire as in 'Claire Bennet' Claire?"

The way he said it had Claire turning to him, giving him her most curious look. "Yeah?"

Sam clapped his hands together and stood, his lanky frame all but towering over her, as he regressed to a screaming fanboy.

"Oh my god, seriously, Claire Bennet. Wow. I am such a huge fan of yours. I've read everything the Company and the Academy has on you and your ability and what you've done. Everyone talks about you, you're a legend. The cheerleader who can't die. You saved the Special's from Danko and you crashed a plane and, oh my god, you're famous."

"The Academy?" Claire questioned, not sure she liked so much of her life open for public view.

"They call the Special's program I designed 'The Academy'," Sylar offered, bewildered at this turn of events.

"Oh, you're in the program?"

"Figures," Luke scoffed.

Sylar slapped him upsides the head. "I'm not done with you."

Sam wrung his hands. "Can I have your autograph, please?"

She gave him a weak smile. "Sure. But can we deal with the raging sociopath in the corner first?"

"Is she talking about you or me?" Luke muttered. Sylar's lips twitched slightly.

Sam suddenly seemed to remember that there were other people in the room and nodded in mortification. "Right, sure. Killers first, autograph later."

Sylar couldn't help but feel sympathy for the boy. He was overwhelmed by Claire and he'd been there for all of her adventures- okay, he'd instigated many of her adventures. Possibly not the best time to remind her of that fact. But he could see where the attraction lay.

Claire was hot, strong and more than a little amazing. No wonder she had boys falling at her feet.

Boys who didn't have a trigger temper and a body count.

The thought made him frown a little and he noted Luke's reaction. Good.

"What were you thinking, Luke?" he asked softly. "I told you that we were making a change, that we could be accepted. Why would you try to screw that up?"

Luke swallowed and lifted his chin defiantly. "It's just who I am."

But there was vulnerability in Luke's expression and as Sylar watched him carefully he could see cracks in the tough-guy veneer that Luke held so tight around himself. His intuitive ability strained at him to prod and poke and understand Luke and, the longer he stared, the more it came into play.

He squatted on his heels in front of the boy and traced a finger across the boy's forehead in a parody of his old methods.

He could hear Claire's heart pounding behind him and Luke's thudding away in front.

"Sylar?"

"Shh," he whispered, not breaking the spell. "I'm concentrating."

He cocked his head, and suddenly there it was.

Luke was afraid. He was afraid of trying and failing. He was scared that he wasn't good enough to be changed, of being himself only to disappoint, and so he set out deliberately to sabotage his chances. That way he would fall but on his terms.

Even now the kid had abandonment issues, so used to being thought of a failure by everyone from his mother to his surrogate father, Samson, and his mentor, Sylar. All he wanted was to fit in and be liked but he was aware that no one had ever really liked him and it wasn't going to change.

'Be yourself' was probably the worst advice anyone had ever given him.

"I see," Sylar said softly. Luke tried to move but his bindings held him down.

"You see nothing," he spat stubbornly, fear making him stupid. "You've gone soft all over some stupid bitch who wouldn't accept you for what you were. Yeah, I can see you love her, carry her picture in your wallet and all that sappy shit. It's ruined you. Just because you want in her pants doesn't mean that I-"

Sylar cut him off with a quick wave of his hand. "You want me to give up on you, like everyone else has. You want to believe that it's everyone else's fault and not yours. That people just suck because they don't give you a chance or they turn their backs too quickly. I'm not like that, Luke."

"Yeah?" Luke's eyes brightened with tears that he was too proud to shed. "Then why did you leave me in podunk nowheresville, huh? You dumped me like I was a bad smell."

"But I didn't kill you," Sylar pointed out, "that was a big deal for me back then."

"I looked up to you, man," Luke yelled suddenly, "you were my-"

"Brother?" Sylar took a deep breath. "I thought so too."

Wrong-footed, Luke just stared at him. "What?"

"Think about it; you could live your whole life without meeting anyone else with a power yet on our street there were two of us. And your mother was close enough to my father to allow him to play with you, take you out and try to hide his whereabouts from me. Why would she do that? It certainly wasn't to protect him. But maybe his son?"

"_Luke, He is your father_."

Everyone turned to look at Sam who shrugged sheepishly. "Oh come on, someone had to say it. It was perfect."

Sam's ill timed humor made even Luke smile slightly. "I always wondered, but mom hated him. Like really hated him."

"And yet she didn't forbid you from seeing him." Sylar leaned back. "Either way, related or not, Luke, we have a lot in common. I didn't kill you and I'm not leaving you now."

"Sure." The disbelief was palpable.

Sylar rubbed the back of his neck. "Luke. I want to help you. Not because it's my job or because I'm one of the good guys now. But because you could be my brother. We could be family. I know I had a hand in what you are now and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I made you kill that guard and I'm sorry for all the sleepless nights you've had over it. I'm sorry for the choices that you made as a result. But Luke, your life is your own. Not mine. You can't keep blaming everyone else for your mistakes. Sooner or later you have to man up and take it. I'm giving you the chance to do just that; to be able to look at yourself in the mirror everyday and not hate yourself. Do you want that, Luke?"

The boy just turned his head away, his jaw tight.

"Untie him," Sylar asked Sam.

"Are you sure, he's still kind of trigger happy?" Sam asked dubiously but did as Sylar asked him.

The kettle returned to it's former glory and the trash can stopped biting his feet.

Luke rubbed at his wrists, scowling at the cord marks wrapped around his tender flesh.

Sylar stood and clasped his hand to Luke's shoulder in a comforting manner. "I was too quick to leave yesterday. I put you here without explaining why and you reacted. That's as much my fault as yours. We need to talk and, I guess, now is as good a time as any." He looked up at Claire.

"I'm going to spend the day with Luke. Do you want us to walk you back to your apartment or call a cab?"

Claire shook her head. "No, you guys go ahead, I'll catch you later." She patted Sam on the back and walked towards the two possible brothers.

She paused in front of Luke.

"I knew a guy like you once. He thought that everyone was out to get him, always. He was angry and bitter and hated everyone. He spent his life trying to destroy everyone and to make them as unhappy as he was."

"What happened to him?" Luke said quietly.

She softened slightly. "He's one of my best friends."

She smiled at Sylar, squeezing his hand once before leaving. Sylar watched her go, his heart in his mouth.

Luke sighed. "You know, she's actually kinda cool. I'm sorry for trying to burn her."

Sylar's laugh was short and matched the lop-sided smile on his face. "Well, that's a start." He frowned. "Hold that thought. Wait, Claire!"

He hurried after her leaving Luke and Sam alone together. Sam peered at him curiously.

"You tried to burn Claire Bennet?" Sam shook his head in disbelief. "And you're still breathing?"

Luke shrugged. "Big deal."

"Ah," Sam nodded as if everything suddenly made sense to him. "You've not met her dad."

"No."

"Word of advice, when you do, and, you will," Sam grinned, "don't mention you tried to incinerate his daughter."

"Pfft," Luke scoffed, "If I survived Sylar-"

"Noah Bennet has an itchy trigger finger like Sylar," Sam said, "except in Mr. Bennet's case his is attached to a gun... and a temper. And possible prejudicial psychosis. And the government. He's of the 'shoot first, shoot second and if there are any survivors shoot them before asking questions' school."

"N.R.A?"

"P.T.A."

Luke laughed and Sam grinned.

"So I guess you want me to move out then, huh?"

Sam shifted slightly uncomfortably. "Well, I did. I mean you threatened my collection and then tried to burn me. You're not going to be on the cover of Sanity Fare anytime soon."

Luke swallowed and looked away.

"But I guess I didn't exactly make you welcome. We could give this roommate thing another shot. If you want?"

Luke glanced up at him quickly before nodding. "Saves me breaking in someone else, I guess."

Sam took that as thanks.

"Besides your power is kinda cool. That Lava spewing can thing? Awesome."

Oooo-

* * *

Claire heard Sylar call her name and turned on the doorstep. She allowed her welcoming smile to widen.

"Is it safe to leave the two of them alone?"

He brushed his hand through his hair before looking worriedly over one shoulder.

"I'll go back and check, I just wanted to see if we're still okay?" He worried his lower lip. "I wasn't trying to scare Luke and I heard your heart beat faster. I just wanted-"

"Shh," Claire touched her finger to his lips stopping him mid-sentence. "I am so proud of you, Sylar."

He blinked. "What?"

Claire's eyes shone. "You wanted to hit him, to smack him around and instead you totally got down to his level, you looked inside him and..." she took a breath, "it was pretty amazing. You're pretty amazing."

He felt his cheeks redden and his heart fairly ached. There was a sensation of pride mixed with the longing that was his usual response to Claire and a slight hope that maybe just maybe he'd be worthy of her.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. "Uh, is everything okay for tomorrow?"

It took Claire an embarrassing moment to remember what tomorrow was. "Ah the bachelorette slash bachelor party. Sure. All set, tickets bought, Emma in the dark. You're end?"

Sylar nodded. "Peter thinks I'm taking him to some yoga retreat."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really? Yoga?"

Sylar shoved his hands into his pockets with an chagrined expression. "His idea."

She wasn't convinced. "Uh huh."

"So, uh. I guess I'll see you tomorrow night?" He brought his hand up to his mouth and chewed on a thumb nail, his eyes avoiding hers as he scuffed at the floor.

Claire fought back a grin at his boyish charm. Really, he could be so adorable, especially when he was uncertain about something. That sparked a memory of something that she wanted to know.

"Can you pass me your wallet?"

Sylar blinked in confusion but had his hand in his pocket before he could think of any reason why she'd need it.

"Did you leave yours at the apartment?"

"No." Claire flipped open the black leather and stilled.

It took him a second but suddenly he realized why she'd asked for it and his stomach turned.

"_Yeah, I can see you love her, carry her picture in your wallet and all that sappy shit._

She held up the photograph of herself and stared at him. "You have a picture of me in your wallet?"

He nodded carefully.

"Why?"

His brain ran through a hundred responses. Some that would get him slapped, others that would have her screaming or mocking him.

Instead he chose a version of the truth.

"Because you won't fit in my pocket, no matter how short you are."

She couldn't help the giggle that erupted and some of the tension left him.

She handed him the wallet back. "Okay."

He furrowed his brow in surprise. She was just letting this go? That was... completely unlike Claire.

He took the proffered wallet and tucked it back in his pocket. "Okay."

She beamed cheekily at him, waggled her fingers and all but danced off the porch.

"See you tomorrow."

Sylar shook his head in bemusement as she walked away. Just when he thought that he had her figured out she went and completely surprised him.

Eternity was going to be so much fun.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Peter was more than Sylar's best friend. He was his savior and his life-preserver and his brother in all but blood. Peter kept Sylar sane when no one else could, he believed in him when no one else would and he trusted him when there was no reason to.

Sylar owed Peter his life, his loyalty and his sanity.

That didn't stop him, however, from wishing- very vehemently- said savior down the bottom of a very deep pit.

Peter was, at that moment, trying to explain to Sylar the fundamental importance of _Star Wars_ to everyday life and Sylar was, at the moment, wondering if it would hinder his rehabilitation if he just dropped Peter in the ocean.

During high tide.

"-its the whole culture in the epic battle of good verses evil and seemingly normal people called to fight in wars that they have no idea of the scope of. Han never knew that his actions would save the Empire, he just had that 'here we go again' feeling which swept him along. Although I always felt more like Luke, I mean young boy living in the shadow of his father and more dynamic companions, although in my case Nathan was probably less of an Obi and more of a Boba Fett."

Peter poked his companion in the shoulder and raised his eyebrows at Sylar's silence. "Sy?"

Sylar gave him a long measured look. "You do realize that I don't care, right?"

"So says Anakin."

"I'm not your father."

"Ahh," Peter pointed at him. "So you do know what I'm talking about."

Sylar pinched the bridge of his nose as he sidestepped another pedestrian. "I've watched i_Star Wars/i,_ Pete, I am human despite what people may say," he gave him a look, "I just never saw the appeal of it."

Peter gaped. "How can you not love _iStar Wars/i_, epic battle of good and evil!"

Sylar dodged another pedestrian and wondered when it was that people had stopped moving out of his way instinctively. It was seven in the evening and most people should have been more than on their way home by now. So why were there still so many people on the street? He glowered at a jogger who started with surprise. The fear on her face made him feel better for all of ten seconds.

Then he just felt guilty. Damn conscience; if he'd had known how much trouble it was he never would have grown one.

"Sy, are you even listening to me?"

"No."

Peter ignored him. "_i__Star Wars/i_is awesome."

So he had been saying for the past half hour. Sylar loved Peter, he really did. As pseudo brothers went Peter was the best. It didn't stop him from being a completely irritating little shit on occasion. This being one of them.

Peter had the ability to fixate on a subject and talk it to death which, coming from someone with Sylar's capacity for obsession, was just plain crazy. Recently he had developed an interest in the parallels between science fiction and real life.

Sylar was sick of talking about Buffy and how Joss Whedon was a special with emotive abilities. He was also sick and tired of comic books and the desire to pontificate on the meaning of life in i_Stargate Atlantis/i_. It was obvious that Peter had a guy crush on Joe Flanigan.

"Sy?"

"I heard you the first time. I don't care because the epic battle is political."

"What?"

Sylar sighed and rolled his eyes. "The whole trilogy is about ousting the evil emperor from his throne and halting the Rebel Alliance. It's one political party verses the dictator. Basically it's Nazi's in space with incest and robots. It's boring."

Peter watched him for a long moment. "You do realize that you have to move out, right? I can't live with a philistine."

"But living with a serial killer is fine?"

"Ex-serial killer and yes. You can slaughter people but not diss _i__Star Wars/i_." Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered to himself. "I am Luke."

"Because you both whine, take directions from a know-it-all freak or because you both had a thing for a relative?"

"A- don't insult my mother and b-" Peter did a double-take. "I did not!"

"Oh please," Sylar scoffed, "save the cheerleader? Would you have bothered so much if it was 'save the mathelete'? You were all over her."

"You're the one in love with her." Peter's voice squeaked.

"I'm not related," Sylar beamed broadly, pleased when Peter spluttered and sank back into sullenness.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

They were silent for another long minute.

"She does have Princess Leia like qualities."

Sylar groaned and slammed his hands over his ears. "For gods sake, Pete, shut up about _i__Star Wars/i_."

"Fine."

Peter kicked the concrete, obviously sulking and Sylar relented.

Sylar shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Now i_Star Trek/i_, there's a show."

"No way!" Peter slammed his hands on the nearest crossing beacon causing it to change to "WALK" far quicker than it should have. A smile flickered around Sylar's mouth as he remembered that Peter had met with little Micah earlier.. "How can you like a randy space captain screwing his way across the cosmos and hate intergalactic battles?"

"i_Star Trek/i_ is a fascinating show about discovery and diplomacy and curiosity and reaching out to understand the unknown, solving puzzles and making peace whilst _i__Star Wars/i_ is about who's lightsaber is bigger. i_Star Trek/i_ is cooler."

"Nuh uh."

"Convincing argument Pete, I can see why you were made Valedictorian."

"Fine, no way. They have Jedi Mind tricks!"

"Vulcan mind meld."

"X-wing fighters."

"The Enterprise."

"The Jedi."

"Starfleet."

"Han Solo."

"Spock."

"Darth Vader!"

"Kahn. Nero. The Borg. Klingons. You can't win this, Peter."

"The Force is strong with me."

There was a moment of silence.

Sylar just stared. "I can i_not/i_ believe you just said that."

Peter shrugged a little sheepishly. "Ok, fine. Captain Kirk was a space slut."

"Chewbacca is a grown up Cousin It. Besides," Sylar gave Peter a very worrying and very smug grin. "I have three words which prove that _i__Star Wars/i_ is inferior. Just three and I win this argument."

Peter shook his head. "No way."

Sylar held up a hand and counted off the three words as he said them. "Jar. Jar. Binks."

"..."

Peter stilled, froze for a long moment and then sagged.

"Fine, you win."

Sylar nodded. "Now do you think we can change the subject?"

"My bachelor party, my rules," Peter grinned, "which also means I get to win this argument. Yes!"

"Fine, you can win if we can stop talking about it."

"Okay."

"Great."

"Fine."

Sylar counted silently in his head.

_iFour, three, two, one-/i_

"So which i_Star Trek/i_ character do you-"

Thankfully for both him and Sylar he never got to finish the question as they rounded the corner and Peter's brow furrowed.

"Dude, it's a Carnival."

Sylar gave him a lop-sided grin. "Huh, I guess it is. How about that?"

Before Peter could say anything else they were joined by a small band of people. Peter had been aware that Mohinder wouldn't be able to make it and no one had been able to find Rene, but he had expected nine of his best male friends. Emphasis on the male.

He gnawed on his lip as Matt presented Janice and little Matty and Edgar whispered something to Tracey who giggled.

Ando, Hiro and Kimiko were joking around with Sean and a little red-haired girl that Peter vaguely recognized whilst Eli and Ian were talking in hushed whispers.

Peter leaned towards Sylar. "Okay, what's going on?"

"Surprise!"

They turned to see Claire beaming brightly with a bemused Emma in tow. Four other women stood behind her, each looking pleased with themselves.

Sylar still wasn't sure how to react around Claire.

In his defense Sylar had genuinely been concerned about Luke's welfare and possibly homicidal tendencies. So much so that he had failed to react- twice!- to mentions of his feelings for Claire in her presence.

It hadn't even occurred to him until he'd walked back in and Luke had scratched his head and said.

"Uh sorry for insulting your girlfriend, Sylar."

Sylar had frowned wearily. "She's not my girlfriend, Luke."

Luke's eyes had widened. "Uh, so my telling her about the picture in your wallet probably wasn't, like, the best idea ever?"

Sylar opened his mouth to ask what Luke was talking about when it hit him.

i "so big bad Sylar got laid and gained his soul?"/i

i"Yeah, I can see you love her, carry her picture in your wallet and all that sappy shit./i

All of the blood drained from his face and he sank into the nearest chair.

"Oh my god."

He'd been beyond mortified. And the fact he hadn't even noticed, just taken it as read that everyone knew he loved Claire and it wasn't a big deal. And sure it wasn't. Except that it was IN FRONT OF HER.

Claire had heard Luke say that and he didn't deny it and, oh god, it was a huge deal and realization made him cringe.

Where was Samuel Sullivan... no, forget that, Hiro Nakamura could turn back time and stop Luke saying such a stupid thing. Hell, he could go back and stop Luke being born. And then Samuel Sullivan could bury his mother just in case.

Didn't he have Hiro on speed dial? Surely the little Japanese guy wouldn't mind doing him that favor, just rewriting time in order to stave off embarrassment.

His fingers had actually flipped open his phone before something occurred to him.

Claire hadn't reacted either.

She hadn't turned up her nose in disgust at the idea of sleeping with him- of course during breakfast she had all but said he could sleep on her bed- and neither had she said anything about the being in love and having her picture... except she'd asked to see the picture.

Was that like asking for proof that he had feelings for her? Did she now know that he loved her? Did she care? Had she been purposely avoiding the subject because she was revolted or maybe because she didn't and couldn't return those feelings? Could he ever bring this up, or should he just forget it and hope that she did the same? When would he know?

And when had he become a teenage girl? Any minute now he was going to call up Molly and ask her for a slumber party to braid hair and talk boys.

He mentally slapped himself and spent the rest of the day determinately avoiding thinking of Claire and warning Luke to keep his mouth shut.

Of course, that didn't help him now that she was in front of him looking cool, clam, collected and he was feeling like a love-sick schoolboy.

Thankfully Peter hadn't noticed his regressing and opened his arms to his neice.

"Claire?"

She grinned at her uncle. "We figured that, since the two of you didn't exactly have the most traditional of courtships you shouldn't have a traditional bachelor or bachelorette party either. So we combined, tonight you and Emma get to have a normal outing with normal fun and friends."

Peter laughed and grabbed Emma's hand. "Really?"

"All rides and expenses paid for, of course," Sylar said, holding up a long strip of ride tickets before tucking it in Peter's top pocket.

"And no powers to be used," Claire raised her voice slightly, including everyone in her warning. "That means no using telekinesis to win a fluffy duck." She pointed at Ian who shrugged sheepishly.

"Unless it's for Matty?" Matt asked.

"Unless it's for Matty," Claire conceded with a beaming smile at the little boy who was staring up at all of the strangers with a big grin on his face.

"Ah, but baby-touch-and-go can do it all himself now," Hiro bowed to the boy. "Isn't that right Baby Matt Parkman?"

"Not a baby," Matty pouted, "I'm a big boy, like daddy and Uncle Sylar."

Peter covered a laugh with his hand. "Uncle Sylar?"

Sylar ignored him. "That's right buddy, and how old are you now?"

"Seven," Matty said proudly.

"And how old's daddy?" Edgar raised an eyebrow.

"Twenty hundred." He leaned towards Edgar. "That's i_old/i._"

Everyone laughed as Matt groaned. "Thanks, pal."

"Are we going to go on rides now, daddy?"

"Yes. Before you start on at how very old mommy is too."

Janice slapped him and turned to face Emma. "Start as you mean to go, Emma. In married life don't give him an inch."

Emma winked. "Okay."

"Yes, dear," Peter faked a subservient demeanor. "I'm your servant, ma'am, where are we going first?"

"I want to go on a roller-coaster."

"You're wish is my command." Peter held his arm out for her and everyone followed as the two of them led the way.

Sylar lagged behind, waiting for Claire. She gave him a grin and he sighed with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

She was just going to treat yesterday like it never happened. He decided to follow her lead.

"This was a great idea, Claire," he said, "I think Peter's gonna love this more than any other idea I could have come up with."

"I should hope so," she teased, "Yoga retreat indeed."

He laughed. "This is so different to the last time I was at a carnival."

"Technically this is more of a funfair. More rides and less acts. But yeah. The last time I was at a carnival it was to try to stop a megalomaniac from sinking New York. Kinda different."

Sylar nodded. "Actually I was thinking about when I stayed with them, when I didn't know who I was. Samuel had me helping out at dinner times and digging and it was nice to be a part of a family, even if it was a lie."

She gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye. "But you do have a family now, Peter, Emma, little Matty. Even me. They do say that friends are the family you chose for yourself. You chose kinda well."

"That I did." He ducked his head. "Just to be clear, though. Peter is like my brother and little Matty is like a nephew. You're not my sister."

Claire shot him a mysterious smile. "Glad to hear it."

She was called by Tracey before he could think of anything to say to that and she hurried off to see what the ice-queen wanted. Sylar was left hoping that her words meant more than what she'd said.

And wondering if Molly could actually braid hair.

The funfair really was a great idea. At first the whole group had stuck together, enjoying each others company as they flitted from ride to ride. They'd all gone on the roller-coaster and waltzers before choosing some low-key rides for Matty.

Nothing would please him more than to ride alongside the grown-ups, playing on the luxury of being the only child in the group and enjoying all of the attention. His green-tinged father had refused to go on the tea-cups with him a second time, citing severe motion sickness, so he'd asked Uncle Sylar to ride in the bumper cars with him.

The picture of the big bad ex-serial killer sat in a tiny red bumper car with a beaming child would be making the rounds at the office come Monday; but it was worth it to see the proud smile on Matty's face and the awkward joy on Sylar's.

After a while, however, the group started to divide. After their experiences with Samuel, Edgar and Eli didn't want to go on the Quaking ride and so they filtered off with their partners to try their hand at a game of chance. Matty and Hiro were too afraid to go on the ghost train so they went to try to hook a duck and Ando and Kimiko decided that this would be great time to revisit one of their earliest memories, with Ando promising not to spill his slushie on Kimiko's dress.

When Peter and Emma headed for the Love Train, Claire held up her hands. "I think I'll stay out here, there are certain things you don't want to see your uncle doing."

"All right," Peter laughed, still holding hands with Emma like a giddy teenaged boy. "I'll catch you later. Sy?"

"I'll sit this one out too," he said with a grin, "the last thing I need is to watch you make an ass out of yourself in the dark. I get enough of that in the daytime."

"Ha ha," Peter tugged Emma towards the line and it was just the two of them left standing.

Claire licked her lips. "I guess they'll be in there a while. You wanna grab something to eat?"

"Sure," he flashed her a grin, "what do you want?"

"Hmm, you know what I'm really in the mood for? Cotton candy."

"I think I saw a stall this way," Sylar pointed and fell into step alongside her.

He was actually quite disappointed that Claire hadn't wanted to go on the Love Train. If he could have finagled a way to sit next to her it would have been... incredibly awkward to say the least. He had already sat by her on the Waltzer and had the delicious torture of having her thrown against him at every turn. He had finally anchored her to him with one arm and every rotation had her pressing harder against his body.

For him the ride ended too soon.

He had enjoyed seeing her try her hand at some of the games, though. Being an ex-cheerleader gave her an advantage when it came to dexterity and, more usefully, she had trained with her father and so wowed them all with her shooting accuracy, winning Matty a large fluffy poodle which barked intermittently with a shrill yip. Matt Parkman thanked her with a very dead-pan expression.

After grabbing her cotton candy, Sylar was content to just walk with her around the fair, pointing out prizes and where the games were obviously rigged. It was something he had picked up whilst working at the carnival.

"- and that one is almost impossible since they've weighted the bottom of the cans."

"Aww," she pouted, "shame since that gray bear is cute."

That gray bear was almost the size of Claire and had a pale blue nose. He was wearing a blue sweater that read "Someone Special".

It was sweet and nerdy and somehow perfect for them.

Sylar rolled up his sleeves and approached the stall.

"Yes sir?" the vendor grinned, "care to try your hand?"

"Give me three sacks."

Claire tapped his arm as the vendor took his money and returned with the little bags.

"You said it was impossible, it was rigged." There was deep amusement in her voice. "I just said it was cute."

"I know," Sylar said, picking up the first sack. "And I said it was i_almosti_ impossible."

She rolled her eyes in affectionate amusement at his arrogance and let him have at it. He took aim, reared back and let the first sack fly.

It slapped against the side and the top tier of the cans from the pyramid toppled.

"Well done, sir," snarked the vendor. "Only six more cans to go."

Sylar narrowed his eyes and knocked over three with his next sack.

The vendor barely even tried to hide his smirk as Sylar's remaining sack didn't manage to dislodge the lower cans.

"Not throwing hard enough," the vendor said, pocketing the money and yawning. "Better luck next time."

Sylar bit his lip and darted a glance at Claire who was watching him to see what he'd do next.

"Going to have another shot?" the vendor's eyes gleamed as he watched Sylar dip into his pockets. "Trying to win the bear for the girlfriend, are we? Shame you failed. But if you're not man enough it is a hard game. You might have better luck trying for a smaller prize."

The vendor gave Claire a very obvious once over, no doubt trying to provoke Sylar into throwing more money his way to prove himself.

Claire glowered even as Sylar's cash disappeared into the vendor's pocket.

His first sack toppled most of the cans, his second took out the last but one row and he took a deep breath.

"One row and the bear is all yours," the tone made it obvious that the vendor was just playing now and it made Sylar angry. He knew it was rigged, he was aware that this was foolish but he couldn't help it. There was just something about Claire that made him want to do the impossible. There was something about her that made him want to give her the world, let alone a stupid bear.

She leaned closer and whispered. "Is he bugging you as much as he's bugging me?"

"Yes," he bit out.

"Then maybe, we can relax our rules." He looked up at her as her eyes danced. "Just this once."

A smirk slid over his face, a sinister smirk that made the vendor suddenly question the wisdom of provoking this man.

Sylar took a deep breath and concentrated on the can, concentrated on the metal ball bearings that were weighing them down. He fixated on them, making them float with his telekinesis and then let the sack fly. It slammed into the cans with a hard clang, sending them flying off the back of the stall and into the curtain.

The vendor stared in a combination of shock and horror.

Claire squealed. "You did it!"

"You did it," the vendor's voice was more full of wonder than Claire's. "How did you-?"

Sylar smirked. "I guess I just threw harder. We'll take the gray bear."

-o-o-o-

Claire hugged the bear to her and didn't even care that she was all but tripping over it. She felt ridiculously teenage; grinning insanely over the fact that some boy had won her a stuffed animal.

Her delight, however, also had Sylar blushing and scuffing his feet like a school-boy so she wasn't alone in this.

They wandered around the funfair, neither wanting particularly to run into their group again, both content to be together.

Sylar was trying to think up another conversation starter- not that he needed to since the silence between them was more comforting than not- when he noted that she wasn't beside him.

He turned around to see her standing still, staring up.

He followed her gaze and let loose a wry chuckle before jogging back to her.

"Regrets?" he said as he stared at the Ferris Wheel.

"You ever wonder what would have happened if I'd have done it?" she asked quietly. "If I'd jumped and outed us all?"

"My base ability, my original is intuitive empathy. I can understand how things work." He took a deep breath. "You would have jumped and the reporters would have swamped you. Within minutes you'd be a YouTube sensation, within hours every single person on the planet would have known your name. Scientists would be swarming all over themselves to study you, reporters knocking at your door to interview you. People would come to marvel, to gawk and, maybe even, worship you. Superstitious people believing you're some kind of goddess in human form would set up a religion in your name." He smiled faintly at that, not taking his eyes off her. "You would become a prisoner in your own home, unable to leave the house without being swamped and then, somehow, it would get out that your blood had the ability to heal others and your life would be over. Day and night you would have people begging for you to heal them. They would want to drain you dry, and some would offer to pay millions for one vial of your blood. People would try to kidnap you, bribe you, blackmail you. You'd never be safe. Then the government would decide that you were a useful tool and things would get really bad."

He watched as she didn't tear her eyes off the revolving wheel, the only sign that she'd heard him was her chest moving a little more rapidly.

"And the others?"

"People would admit to having abilities and it could go two ways. They'd gain celebrity status and positive attention or people would react with fear and jealousy- depends on who and what powers are revealed first. In any case it's only a matter of time before there is another Samuel Sullivan or Eric Doyle... or me. And it would become a nightmare. Those who didn't have abilities hunting those that do; trying to study them to take the abilities, and this time it would be sanctioned by the government. People would squeal on their neighbors, families divided . The Company would be one of the best solutions. No matter how it plays out, segregation and tolerance is really the best we can hope for at this stage in humanity."

He let her take this in for a moment, knowing that she saw the truth of his words, no matter how much it pained her.

Claire nodded slowly. "Good job I didn't jump then, huh?"

Sylar tried to ignore the anguish in her tone as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "We will outlive this age, Claire. One day we will see a time when people with abilities can walk free and be who they are. You will see it, Claire."

"Just not yet." She hugged the bear to her.

He didn't have anything to say to that and Claire eventually shook herself.

"You wanna ride it?"

He blinked. "The Wheel?"

Claire nodded. "You wanna go on with me and Gabriel here."

His stunned expression made her smile as she squeezed the bear. "You're naming the bear Gabriel?"

"Because he's gray," she said with the hint of a mischievous grin, "and because he's soft and squishy."

His heart tripped and he felt soft and squishy at her words. "All right, I'll go on the Ferris Wheel with you. But no jumping off."

It turned out that Gabriel was not quite big enough to go on the ride with them and so Claire hesitantly left him with the ride attendant as she and Sylar boarded the cart. They pulled down the handrail and were slowly swept up into the air.

She sighed as the noises of the fair started to fade and they were pulled up into the sky.

"I was best friends with this guy called Zach and when my abilities manifested and I was bummed out that mine was so lame, he asked what power I would want."

Sylar half-shifted in his seat to face her. She looked almost wistful, staring out over the neon flashing lights of the fair, the wind sweeping her hair back. His fingers ached to push the strands away from her face, to let the back of his hand slide over her satin-soft cheeks. He gripped the bar tighter.

"What power would you want?"

"I wanted to fly. Just open your arms and let it all fade away as you soared into the clouds." She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "To me that was always the coolest power. Forget your telepathy and telekinesis and pyro-whatever. Just being able to fly." She sighed deeply.

"It is pretty cool." Sylar bit his lip. "I don't use it much. I don't want to remind you of Nathan but... if you- I could... I mean, if you ever wanted... I could take you flying."

He stilled as he waited for her to think about that.

She eventually sighed. "Yeah, I think that would be okay."

A comfortable silence settled on them as the wheel climbed higher, both of them lost in thought, memories and hopes.

She was still staring thoughtfully out at the glittering New York lights as they reached the top of the wheel.

"Sylar? You remember in the Stanton you told me that you realized that there were bridges to mend?"

"Yeah?"

"When they were mended...what did you imagine would happen on the other side of the bridge?"

"What?"

She turned to face him, her expression both curious and defiant. "What did you i_want/i_ to happen, between us?"

Everything, nothing. Her and him together forever. Life love and everything in between.

Sylar opened his mouth once but nothing came out; it was like hope had stolen all of his words and replaced them with fear.

He swallowed once, twice and still couldn't form the words.

But somehow, miraculously, she seemed to understand. She reached up and touched his face gently.

"Was it something like this?"

Before he could say anything, Claire leaned up and pressed her mouth to his.

The first touch of her lips against his was electric, sending a shiver racing down both their spines at the contact. Sylar gasped at the sensation, his mind whirring in disbelief and desperation. She was kissing him.

His senses reeled as he fought not to drown in it but to cling to the reality.

She kissed him softly, sweetly, just a casual touch that he felt down to his very soul.

She stroked her fingers across his cheeks, nudging his mouth with her lips once more before pulling back.

It took Sylar several seconds before his synapses registered that his eyes were still closed and he blinked.

Claire was biting on her lower lip nervously.

"Anything like that?" she whispered.

It took him two tries before he could answer.

"Y-yeah. Something like... aw hell-"

He abandoned his need for words and went for action instead. Sylar reached out and sank his fingers into her hair, pulling her back to him. He brushed his lips against hers in a gentle but persistent caress that had Claire shuddering against him, pleasure tripping down her spine.

The sigh that ghosted across his lips was enough encouragement for him to sweep in, pressing harder.

He traced his tongue across the seam of her mouth and Claire opened up allowing him to explore the corners of her mouth. She couldn't help the whimper as he angled his head, tangling his fingers in her blonde locks and deepened the kiss, tasting what he had desired for so long.

That desire, that desperation swelled and multiplied as his senses finally believed that he had her in his arms. He yanked her even closer, showing her without words exactly how long he had wanted this kiss. He almost sobbed in relief and desperation that he had this, he had her in his arms like he had always dreamed and it was real; she was real, they were real and nothing would ever compare. He choked back the urgency and pushed all of his feelings into that one touch of lips.

It may have started out a tentative peck but their chemistry was more of a lab explosion and the kiss took on a life of its own as he ravaged her mouth, Claire caught in the onslaught. She could feel her lips swelling, bruising under his assault only to heal and burn again, a never ending cycle of tingling sensation that she knew she'd never get enough of.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, cursing the safety rail that held her back from climbing onto his lap.

He tasted so damn good and she just wanted him to devour her.

He seemed to have no problem with that, his mouth hot and insistent. Claire dug her nails into his shoulders, glad that she had something to anchor her, his strong muscles rippling under her fingers as he fought for purchase.

His own hands abandoned her hair and slid up and down her shoulders, her back, her sides; like a kid in a candy store not sure where to touch. He caressed her curves and forced her back against the seat, bending over to enclose her in his body.

Finally the annoying need for oxygen had her ripping her mouth away from his, gasping at the air like a drowning victim; and it wasn't too far off the mark. Her head was swimming and her senses reeling from the unexpected implosion.

Sylar, cursed as she was by the need to breathe, seemed to content himself with tiny gasps of air in between kisses trailed over her cheeks and across her jaw.

Claire arched her back and tilted back her head granting him access to her neck; access which he gladly took, kissing his way down her jawline and scraping his teeth against her pulse point.

Claire groaned in a haze of pleasure filled euphoria. She was trapped against his hard body and her tiny hands fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer.

She let out a small sob and lifted her head, he took the hint and slanted his mouth back over hers, taking more and more until she thought she'd burst.

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs rubbing circles on her cheeks as he tried to bury himself inside her.

She was so lost in the deluge of pleasure that she didn't notice the jolt at first... then the carriage they were in swung slightly and the jolt of them moving startled her out of her fog. Their carriage on the wheel was beginning its descent, which mean that this would soon have to come to an end. The thought pained Claire.

The notion that they were moving seemed to reach Sylar at the same time.

He had a slightly different reaction.

Without breaking their kiss he flung his hand out and Claire could hear the brief crackle of electricity and a pop. There was a startled scream and a sudden dimming on the lights on the Wheel. Their carriage slammed to a halt.

Claire started to laugh against his lips. Sylar broke away, looking adorably flustered and bewildered; a remarkable example of bedhead and thoroughly kissed that sent her heart thudding way.

"What?" he said, his voice deep and hoarse.

"Did you just fry the Ferris Wheel?"

Sylar's eyes widened and he looked over the edge of their seats to the now smoking circuit box below. The controls to the Ferris Wheel were, indeed, fried and the ride operator was looking both freaked and harassed as he glared at the sparking panel.

Sylar sat back. "Oops?"

Flushing with as much embarrassment as amusement Claire hid her head against his chest and laughed harder.

Sylar gave a low chuckle and stared down at the body wrapped around his. He was slightly perturbed and maybe a little embarrassed by his lack of self-control but he hadn't wanted anything to come between him and Claire, least of all something avoidable- like the ground.

"Well that's one way of dealing with it," she managed between giggles. "Only how are we going to get down, genius?" Her eyes sparkled as she teased him. "Jump?"

"No." He rubbed the back of his neck, the pink tinge to his cheeks fading as he registered her amusement rather than annoyance. "They have contingency plans for this kind of stuff. They'll probably get the fire brigade out or have a back up."

Claire thought about that for a moment. "Huh. I guess that could take a while."

The impishness in her voice had him looking at her in a whole new light, a grin sliding over his own face. "That it could."

"You know, you could use TK to get us down," she pointed out.

"Too many people around," Sylar shook his head in mock innocence. "We shouldn't risk it."

Claire bit her lip, devilry in her eyes. "Right, we should just sit tight and wait to be rescued."

He grinned wolfishly at her and placed his arm around her shoulders. "I don't see anything wrong with staying up here fore a while."

She leaned towards him. "There's got to be something we can do to pass the time."

Rescue came an hour later and far too soon.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

By the time that the fire engine had arrived and gotten everyone down from the Ferris Wheel there was a considerable crowd hanging around.

Claire and Sylar were the last off the ride and were presented with free tickets from the management as compensation.

Sylar felt like giving them back and donating a million dollars to the fair in thanks. He could still taste Claire on his lips and he felt like he could single-handedly take on the universe- except for one small thing.

As they had stepped off the carriage and onto solid ground Claire had turned on her heel and stopped him, a slight look of unease on her face.

"Uh Sylar, can we keep this... development between us for now?"

His heart sank. "Why?"

She nibbled her lower lip, not noticing him staring at it in longing, before she answered. "You and me- whatever this is or is going to be- it's gonna be a big deal for a lot of people. My dad, Angela, not everyone is going to be happy and I need some time before the inquisition. Also this is Peter and Emma's time to shine. I don't want any unnecessary drama to detract. Okay?"

It took him a long moment as he weighed it up but he had to concede that she was right. If Noah found out that he had had his tongue anywhere near Claire's throat- or any other portion of her anatomy- he might find that forever was not as long as he had hoped. He may be immortal but Noah Bennet was nothing if not creative.

Added to that would be the impending catastrophe that would inevitably ensue and the sheer craziness which could potentially overshadow Pete and Emma's wedding. No, best wait until his brother was safely out of the way before stirring up that hornets nest.

He'd nodded slowly. "Okay, Claire. Just between us."

And he had kept it that way despite wanting to shout to the high hills his elation, despite wanting to sky write that Claire Bennet kissed him, he was going to keep it quiet.

Quite how he imagined he was going to keep it from Peter he had no idea, but Claire had asked him to and, if the choice was keeping something from Peter or never kissing Claire again- well, he knew where his loyalties lay.

Hormones every time.

So he didn't get to hold her hand on the way home. Or drape an arm over her shoulder as they walked through the streets. Or kiss her good night.

She gave him a knowing glance as she walked with Tracey and Edgar back to her apartment and that was what he went to sleep on.

He woke up feeling better than he had in a long while, not as good as the day he woke with her in his arms, but close.

He stretched and couldn't help the grin that seemed perma-fixed to his face. It stayed there as he showered and dressed and shaved and cooked breakfast. By the time Peter and Emma roused, his face was actually beginning to ache from holding the smile in place and he had remind himself not to give the game away.

When he heard footsteps he quickly schooled his face into a stoic mask and hoped Peter's eagle eyes wouldn't catch his euphoria.

Peter waved good morning, idly scratching his bare chest as he reached for the coffee, bleary-eyed and half-asleep. Emma was similarly disheveled when she came out of his room, barely sparing Sylar a glance before devouring a plate of eggs and bacon. The two of them were so intent on waking up and shaking off the fuzziness of sleep that they didn't notice the manic smile that kept flashing over his face.

He could probably have dissected a brain on the table and neither would have noticed except to beg for more coffee.

Emma patted his arm as she finished her breakfast and headed to the shower. Peter chewed in silence, focusing on not falling asleep in the milk.

Sylar pouted. Okay so he had a secret and he needed to keep the secret but he at least wanted them to know that he had a secret. He wanted them to notice that he was full of the joys of spring and wanted to dance in a field of lilies.

And now he was scaring himself. Maybe he should tell Peter. It wasn't like Peter would tell Claire that he knew, right?

And it would stop him from going insane, so it was really in Claire's best interests for him to tell someone. He was doing it for her.

Sylar gnawed on his lip and opened his mouth to spill the beans when a sharp knocking came from the front door, derailing him before he could speak.

"I'll get it," Peter said absently ignoring the fact that he was half-dressed.

Sylar sighed in relief.

Okay, that was close. He really needed to have better self-control than that. He needed to keep this to himself until Claire decided otherwise.

The thought of her had his lips turning up again.

The grinning thing had to stop, he was going to give himself away.

Or get sectioned.

Or shot.

He tried thinking of sad things but it didn't help. He was riding high and nothing, nothing, could spoil his mood-

"Hey, mom, what are you doing here?"

-except Angela Petrelli.

"Can't a mother visit her son? Now put some clothes on, dear, that isn't how you answer a door."

Angela Petrelli took off her gloves eying Peter's apartment with the same level of disdain that she applied to everything she hadn't had a hand in. Her eyes landed on Sylar sitting at the breakfast table sipping his coffee.

"Gabriel, still leeching off Peter, I see."

He raised an eyebrow. "Angela, if you're here who's running hell?"

"Very droll, I'm sure." She gave him her trademark pinched smile and turned back to her son. "Peter, I thought we'd go for lunch."

Peter blinked. "It's eight a.m."

"Fine, early brunch. We really need to talk about your wedding. It's only a week away, Peter and you have so much to do and plan."

"I think everything is under control, mom," Peter rolled his eyes. "The park is booked, the reception is set. Emma and Claire have spent hours making those table favor things. RSVP's are all in. Tux rented, honeymoon booked. I really can't think of anything else- unless you need to know about napkins." His eyes glazed slightly. "Because apparently they come in teal which I figured was an animal but is actually a kind of blue."

"Yes, I knew that, dear." She shrugged elegantly. "I just thought it would be nice to spend some quality time together."

Sylar eyed her shrewdly. "She wants a favor."

"Excuse us, Gabriel, this is a family discussion," her eyes narrowed. "As you are not family I hardly see what it has to do with you."

"Mom!" Peter warned, "Sylar is as good as family. So knock it off. What do you want?"

"Fine," she dropped the sweet mother routine. "Noah tells me that you have taken in a particular young man with rather a nasty temper problem and a criminal record."

Sylar felt his insides crawl. "Luke Campbell."

"Yes. I hear he's down for the training program. I'm here to tell you now that this particular boy can not be rehabilitated."

"He's almost 23," Sylar replied, "hardly a boy. And what makes you so sure?"

Angela smirked. "I had this remarkable dream, why, it was almost prophetic."

Sylar felt his fingers curl, his palms itching to slap the smug sarcastic look off her face. "And we all know how helpful your dreams are, don't we? What was that one about Nathan again, _mom_?"

She went from cool arrogance to spitting psychopath quicker than Medusa. "And who's fault is that Sylar? You murdered him!"

"As did you," he replied icily. "There no innocents in this apartment."

"Except for Emma."

"Except for Emma," Sylar conceded, darting a quick glance at Peter who was standing still, watching the match between his mother and his best friend.

"She's in the shower," Peter continued, "and when she gets out we are going to work. So sorry, ma, no can do for brunch. And the Campbell kid... he's Sylar's project. If you have an issue with him, or if your dream told you something. You need to share it with him."

Her lip curled. "He's a cold blooded killer and will destroy us all."

Sylar folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "Yeah?"

She stiffened. "I saw him standing over a body, his hands stained with blood. He can not be rehabilitated... any more than you can." She spat her last words at Sylar and turned on her heel.

The whole apartment shook as she slammed the door behind her.

Sylar glared at the panel. "God, I wish someone would drop a house on her."

Peter choked on a laugh. "Dude, that's my mom."

"My condolences." Sylar shook his head.

Peter sighed heavily. "She may be-"

"evil incarnate?"

"-difficult, but her dreams are usually accurate. Do you think we have a problem?"

Sylar shook his head. "She's lying."

Peter frowned at him. "How can you tell?"

"Her lips are moving. Also inbuilt lie detector. But mostly experience." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Luke is many things but cold blooded isn't one of them. She may have seen him standing over a body but, like all things, her dreams are subject to interpretation."

Peter rubbed a hand over his face. "It is way too early to deal with this crap. When you see Luke tell him that if he wants to destroy the world, can he do it after 11 when I'm caffeinated?"

"Sure. I was going to drop by after work, make sure he and Sam haven't destroyed each other."

"Good." Peter headed towards the kitchen. "If the world doesn't end I'll see you for dinner."

* * *

"No, no and once again no!" Sylar pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Luke held his hands up in complete confusion and ignored the sniggers from Sam. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"Wrong?" Sylar gaped staring around at the complete destruction that was once the training room.

The wooden horse was now wooden splinters, the hurdles were piles of melted metal and the punching bag was charred plastic and, even worse, the training dummies were smoldering piles of cotton and mush.

"That," he pointed to the flickering pile, "was supposed to be a future agent. Except now all he's good for is salting the sidewalk. You were instructed to incapacitate not incinerate!"

Luke shrugged. "Well he isn't hurting anyone anymore."

"That isn't the point!" Sylar exploded. "Sam managed to apprehend his villain without char-boiling him!"

They both glanced over to where Sam's dummy was neatly tied up in a length of rope which was hissing and spitting at them.

"Yeah well, I'm not the golden boy," Luke was getting annoyed. "And Sam's ability isn't a one time deal, okay, whereas my power means I'm pretty much a microwave. I melt therefore I am." He slammed his hands on his hips.

Sylar could feel another migraine coming on... or at least he would if he could get sick.

"Killing without provocation is what got us into this mess-"

Luke rolled his eyes, "-killing is bad. If you want to be accepted by the blah blah blah. I've heard the speech, like, a million times, okay?"

"Then why do you insist in ignoring it?"

"Because it's bullsh-bogus all right? I can melt people down into atoms so why shouldn't I use the gift given in the way intended?" Luke clenched his fists and stepped up to Sylar. Sam sucked in a breath but neither of the men paid him any attention.

"Because maybe you weren't born to be a killer," Sylar growled.

"Then what?"

"A short order cook," Sylar yelled, "a chef, radiation detector, a fucking heater!"

"Language!" Luke smirked and Sylar raised his hands.

Luke ducked and Sylar paused in the act of raking his hands through his hair. He froze at the thought that Luke expected to be punched.

He was many things but he wasn't a bully.

"I wasn't going to hit you."

Luke swallowed and stepped back., noticeably rattled. "Yeah I knew that."

Sylar sighed heavily. "Just because your ability seems one dimensional doesn't mean that it is. There is always another facet to it, a natural progression or evolution of your ability. For example you'd think that telepathy just meant you could read minds right?"

"Right."

"Wrong, with enough practice you can push thoughts into people's heads, make them believe certain things. You can select memories for them to relive or mend synapses. You could create a whole world in their head." Sylar's eyes darkened. "Reading minds is just the start. Even regenerative powers. It starts by you being able to heal quickly, regrow limbs. Your blood as a universal healer, you could potentially hold the cure to every single disease- even those not mutated yet. Your ability can't just be melting stuff. You need to find the nuances and how to adapt them."

Luke inclined his head, thinking that one through. "You're saying that my power can be more, right?"

"Yes!" Sylar gave him a smile. "And just because you have a power doesn't mean that you have to use it. Yes Sam wound his rope around the dummy but he didn't have to use his ability. If you rely on powers too much then what happens if they are taken away from you? I was captured by the Company and they had a drug that inhibited my abilities. I was left locked in cell with none of my powers working. You need to be able to think on your feet and draw on your smarts. And you are smart, Luke."

Luke didn't seem to be listening any more. He had his head cocked to the side and was frowning, obviously deep in thought.

Sylar exchanged glances with Sam who was just as bemused as he was.

"Earth to Luke, come in Luke?"

Luke shook his head. "Dude, I'm thinking, okay?"

Sylar threw his hands in the air. "Whatever." He was about to say more but was thankfully stopped by his cellphone.

"Sylar."

"Agent Sylar, we have a situation."

Sylar fought the urge to roll his eyes. "When don't we?"

"Noah Bennet called asking for help."

Sylar choked. "What?"

"Special Agent Noah Bennet from the—"

"I know who he is," Sylar interrupted, "he needs our help?"

"He requested you specifically, sir."

"Of course he did."

"He was sent to bag and tag a level 5 escapee who has turned back up on the radar. The special has made his way into one of the tower transmitters and is threatening to reveal the existence of specials via radio. He is a sound manipulator."

"Oh great," Sylar could see how that would be a problem. When Jesse escaped from Level 5 he used his sound manipulation to emit sonic waves. If anyone tried that when hooked up to the radio there was no telling what kind of problems it would cause. "Tell Bennet I'm on my way. Where is the target?"

"The Lindeman Bi-tower."

"The one by the old Primatech factory?" Sylar allowed himself a smirk. "Seems like our special likes his irony."

He closed his cell and turned to the two boys eying him curiously. "I've got to go. Clean this mess up and then call Peter, tell him we need a new gym."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The Lindeman Bi-tower was a tall brick building with a metallic transmitter on top. It had been one of the first of its kind and was installed before the beautification and disguising of such towers. In its time it had transmitted wireless talk shows, messages of war, piped music and, more recently, had been up-fitted to transmit wireless feed.

None of that stopped it from being ugly.

Sylar watched as Noah Bennet yelled something into his phone and stalked over, his expression hard and unwelcoming.

"You wanted me?" Sylar beamed brightly, knowing full well that Noah would only have called him as a last resort.

Noah gritted his teeth. "We've got Micah Saunders currently running interference so Derek can't make the transmission but it will only hold him off for so long."

"Derek?"

"Derek DeMille, brother of Echo DeMille." Noah's tone was smug.

Sylar looked at him blankly.

"You slit his throat when you broke out of Level 5."

The blank look remained.

"Three men told they could have their freedom if they killed you. You killed two... none of this is ringing any bells with you is it?"

Sylar just shrugged. "Can't say it is."

"I suppose once you've murdered as many people as you have it's hard to keep track of them all, isn't it?"

Sylar stared him down. "When I reach your body count I'll let you know."

They glowered at each other, real hate swelling in between them. Despite his conversation with Claire about the possibility of him and Noah being best buds in some alternate dimension, in this one they were firmly entrenched as bitter enemies.

Noah Bennet had been there and had instigated practically every single step of Gabriel Gray's descent into madness and been at almost every single milestone since.

He'd seen Sylar's first kill. He'd instigated the second. He'd helped Elle break his heart. He'd chased him through Texas, he'd been there for all the important kills right up to Claire. Then he'd captured and tortured him. Experimented on him, shot, stabbed, and poisoned him. Again and again and again he'd betrayed Sylar all to keep him away from his daughter.

And now Sylar could still taste the delectable ex-cheerleader who wanted to keep him safe from her dad. Life was just fun sometimes and even irony had its place.

"I'd say be careful, but I really hope he kills you," Noah snarled.

Sylar smirked. "If I had feelings, and I gave a rat's ass what you thought, I'd be hurt."

Noah merely curled his lip and walked away.

The tower had undergone so many renovations that the insides had an oddly mismatched appearance. Sixties architecture with eighties design. Early forties artwork with a nineties flare.

It was like a history museum threw up and all the crap landed here.

Sylar's innate sense of style prodded at him to do the world a favor and 'Sprague' the joint.

Maybe when he was done with DeMille he'd destroy the tower for fun.

He managed to get right to the top of the tower without being detected or stopped which really made him feel sad for the future of villainy.

When he had held up a building, there had been no way that they would have made it in as far as he had. When he had hijacked Claire that time he had monitored all frequencies, watched all surveillance tapes, kept the FBI out and managed to screw with their heads, all without them finding him; if it hadn't been for his overwhelming urge to rip Angela apart with his bare hands he'd probably have killed them all off without ever leaving his room.

Impulse control had always been a problem with him.

Sylar paused outside the control room door, closing his eyes and allowing his senses to work away. DeMille was alone and swearing in a way that would have had Luke confined to his room for a month. Apparently little Micah Saunders was still every inch the little techno-whiz he had always been and had managed to jam the frequency or stop the transmission or whatever it was that he had to do to make DeMille's plan not work.

Now it was up to Sylar to stop him.

He took a deep breath and hovered into the room, his feet silently floating about an inch above the floor. The room was set out like a Trekkie's wet dream with a huge curved console that wouldn't have looked out of place on the Enterprise. There were enough shiny pieces and gadgets to hold anyone's interest and the Intuitive Adaptability part of Sylar just wanted ten minutes and a screwdriver to uncover all of the marvelous workings of that machine.

Sadly he had ten minutes and one pissed off Special to deal with before he could even think of that.

DeMille had his back to Sylar and was methodically making his unhappiness felt by kicking the crap out of the console.

As one booted foot landed too close to the central processor Sylar winced.

"Hey, that equipment is delicate and antiquated and worth so much more than you."

DeMille spun on his heel, his hands raised and, too late Sylar saw the gun he had been holding in front of him.

Bennet had never said anything about a gun.

"Who the hell are you?" DeMille snarled.

Sylar shrugged. "I'm here to offer you a chance to surrender before you get yourself killed."

DeMille spat on the floor at his feet and told him to do something anatomically impossible... unless you were Claire Bennet and could remove certain parts of your body.

And were friends with a goat.

Sylar blinked. "Points for creativity. But you have to know that there is no way out of this. They will not let you expose us."

"Us?" DeMille grinned maliciously. "You think you're anything like me, asshole?"

"No," Sylar allowed his own smirk to filter through. "I'm better."

"Try this, GO AWAY!" As DeMille poured his sound manipulation into his voice, thick waves of pressure rippled through the air, ramming into Sylar with the force of a freight train and Sylar was hurled backwards into the wall.

He felt his head crack against the brick and swiftly mend itself. The wall was more damaged than his body and he managed to stand up without wavering, leaving a slick puddle of blood on the floor.

DeMille frowned, probably wondering why Sylar hadn't been knocked unconscious.

Sylar merely raised one thick eyebrow. "Is that it?"

DeMille opened his mouth, setting his shoulders for another round.

Sylar beat him to it.

He opened up and let Jesse's power flood through him. It swept across the room like ripples in a pond and slammed into DeMille. DeMille obviously hadn't been expecting to get blasted with his own power and hurtled backwards as if on invisible strings. He slid across the floor ending up face down in the dust.

Sylar cocked his head. "I could have killed you already if that was what I wanted. Surrender, Derek and save yourself the trouble."

"You think you know the power?" he hissed. "How about this? DESPAIR."

Sylar swallowed as the question rattled around in his brain. How could he know the power when he had stolen it? All of the abilities he had weren't his by right or by birth, they were his because he had craved and taken them. He was no more than a petty thief; a child taking candy because it belonged to someone else. He was pathetic.

He could never wield the abilities as well as those from whom he had ripped them. And he was fooling himself if he thought that he would ever be anything more than Gabriel Gray watchmaker and pathetic loser. A guy who lived with his mom until he was thirty. A guy whose first true girlfriend turned out to be a secret government agent who wanted him dead.

Did he really think that he was good enough? Good enough for anything let alone Claire?

Claire was going to realize that some day and leave him.

He'd be alone for all eternity.

Sylar's knees buckled with the sudden weight of his thoughts. He staggered as despair filled him, its debilitating effects swamping through him, tugging him down in a maelstrom of depression and angst and...

His healing kicked in and he gasped, the feeling ebbing away. He could think again.

Now that was one neat facet to the ability, one he had never really thought of but, of course, sticks and stones break bones but words have power: manipulate sound- manipulate emotions.

Emotions worked by altering chemicals and neuro-receptors in the brain which meant that utilizing the proper frequency could, arguably, alter emotions.

Fascinating.

Sylar cocked his head. "DELIGHT."

The beaming smile that broke out over DeMille's face was at odds with his words. "What the hell?"

Sylar stepped closer. "FEAR."

DeMille swallowed hard, the smile fading from his face.

"Although I really didn't need to use your ability for that one," Sylar said, coming closer. "Somehow I manage to make people scared enough without it." He opened his hand and blue sparks flickered over it. "This is your last chance, DeMille. Surrender."

"I'd rather die," he hissed and reared up, the gun aimed at Sylar. He fired twice.

Sylar rolled his eyes and the bullets stopped inches away from him, suspended in mid-air by his telekinesis.

DeMille gaped. "What are you?"

"Believe it or not," Sylar said, "I'm the good guy."

DeMille dropped to one knee and fired again. Once again, the bullets were halted by Sylar.

But it seemed that DeMille had quite the imagination.

Even as the bullets hovered in mid-air, he hauled back a breath and screeched. The sound echoed around the room, the sonic waves pounding at Sylar's delicate eardrums. The dissonance in the air disrupted his telekinesis and the bullets pounded through, slamming into his body.

Blood poured from the wounds even as the bullet holes began to heal.

Sylar staggered back but DeMille wasn't done yet.

With an odd sound from the back of his throat all of the machinery in the room roared to life, the pitch and volume altering like someone sitting on a remote control.

Then, with a malicious grin DeMille started to hum, low down in his throat. The noise made Sylar pause, it was like the buzzing of flies. He shook his head and stepped forwards but the volume and intensity grew.

It was like bees, like a swarm of bees, race cars, electric fans, static. The buzzing grew and grew until it rattled his teeth and reverberated around his brain.

Hands clapped over his ears, Sylar realized that that DeMille had used his sound manipulation to change the frequency of the equipment; which meant that he could now broadcast. Something that Sylar had to stop at any cost.

He raised his hands and fired electricity at DeMille but the lightning bolts faltered in flow. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

But the high pitched sound was drilling into his brain, the shrill resonance burning his eyes and bouncing around inside his cranium.

He could feel blood trickling out of his nose. His head spun and he reached for the wall, trying to steady himself. He tried to think of a power, any power to neutralize DeMille, but he couldn't think. If he could only think!

He closed his eyes and flew forwards, grabbing DeMille by the hair and yanking him off his chair. DeMille twisted and increased the pitch of his shriek.

Sylar screamed, clutching his head. The last time his head had hurt this bad had been when he'd first got Dale Smithers' power and he could hear the turn of the earth and the marching of ants. He dropped to his knees, bile and vomit rising to the fore as his inner ear affected his balance.

Vertigo spun him around and he curled into a ball, forcing himself not to be sick, not to give up.

The room whirled and colors danced in front of his eyes.

He had to move. DeMille was about to broadcast, he had to get up. But he couldn't tell which way was up and which was down. He closed his eyes together, fighting to overcome this.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sylar could hear DeMille's voice from miles away, foggy and loud, booming into his abused brain.

"I'm the guy that's gonna stop you."

And suddenly the sound was gone and Sylar could see and hear and breathe again. He gulped in long swallows of air, sucking in vital oxygen.

Weak as a day old kitten he flipped onto his back and his eyes widened as he recognized the second voice.

"Luke?" He croaked, but the boy ignored him, his hand outstretched.

"Uh, I think there's some kind of speech thing about redemption but I'm kinda new at this so I'm just gonna say, dude you suck and uh peace on earth or something."

DeMille snarled. "What have you done? Why isn't the sonic working?"

Luke grinned cockily. "Because my room-mate is a freaking genius."

"I'm not going to argue with a kid." DeMille opened his mouth and roared. "BACK OFF!"

Luke slammed back into the wall, carried on a sail of sound. He dropped to the floor in the same spot Sylar had and landed in a puddle of Sylar's blood.

"Gross," Luke wrinkled his nose and wiped his hands on his jeans. DeMille obviously thought that the show of power would be enough to stay Luke and he turned back to the console.

Luke, however, was made of sterner stuff and held his hands up, aiming at DeMille.

Sylar's heart sank. "Luke, no!"

"It's all right, Sy," Luke said confidently. Waves started to emit from Luke's hands and Sylar wanted to close his eyes in despair. He hadn't wanted Luke to kill anyone ever again; how could he be redeemed if his first thought was murder?

"What the- hey!"

From behind him Sylar heard a shuffle and a pop and then Luke hurried forward.

There was a bang and a sizzle and finally Sylar could move again. He turned over, praying that he wouldn't see what he feared most; a melted pile of human remains and Luke standing proudly over it.

He blinked.

Luke was standing triumphantly but the body was whole and breathing but unconscious. He was also holding a piece of wood like a baseball bat and peering curiously at it.

"Huh, head does sound like watermelon. He's alive, I didn't hit him that hard."

Sylar swallowed back nausea. "The broadcast?"

Luke smirked. "Oh I stopped that when I came in. According to Sam I'm a microwave transmitter. Did you know that microwaves are just, like, tiny radio waves? Which means I can affect communications satellites and shit... uh stuff like that? I blew up the console and hit him while he was distracted. Sam says I could emit, like, sonic waves and probably get us free cable. Hows that for evolution of powers." He beamed proudly. "Did I do a good job, Sylar, huh?"

He stood there with bloody hands over a body that wasn't quite as dead as i_dreamed/i_.

So Angela was wrong. Again. He couldn't wait to tell her.

"Sylar, was that okay, Sylar?"

Sylar laid his head down on the floor and laughed.

Sylar was still grinning three hours later as he told the story to Emma.

"So much for Angela Petrelli's great prophetic dreams." He raised a glass.

Emma signed quickly. "Her ability is misleading."

"No, her ability is fine. It's her who's twisted. She sees danger and pain in everything. If she'd have had her way I would have turned Luke in to the government as a potential threat. Now he's had a taste of being a hero he's twenty times more likely to stick to it. He has a reason now."

"Girls?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

Sylar shrugged. "It worked for me."

"Whatever it is, I am glad it worked out." Emma beamed. "To Luke!"

"To Luke." They clinked their wine glasses and sipped.

"So, I was thinking we should go out to celebrate. Dinner at that Italian place off Main?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sylar agreed.

They all looked up as there was a knock at the door.

"Hey, don't look at me," Peter held up his hands. "I got it this morning, and we all know how well that worked out."

The idea of it being Angela made Emma shiver. "I didn't hear anything."

"But you saw the light that signified a knock."

"Nope," Emma shook he head with a defiant look. "I didn't see anything either."

Peter was impressed. "Sneaky."

"I'll get it," Sylar said with a grin, "and if it's your mom this time she isn't coming in."

Peter inclined his head. "That's fair."

Sylar passed through the kitchen and the living room and paused by the door. He half hoped that it was Angela so that he could rub her face in how wrong she had been. He wanted to see her admit- just once- that she was wrong. Of course the chances of that were so remote as to be impossible. But a man could dream.

He opened the door with a smirk, ready with a sarcastic comment. But it wasn't Angela.

"Hey there."

He looked down at the perky blonde with a tempting smile.

Sylar found himself smiling widely. "Cla-"

"Shh," she peered over his shoulder into the apartment and, seeing no one, reached up and grabbed his shirt.

She yanked him forwards and down, pulling him out into the hallway and down to her lips.

Once again Sylar felt his world spin as Claire kissed him. The subtle taste of strawberries and coffee and cinnamon mixed with something that was uniquely Claire was as intoxicating to him now as it had been on that Ferris Wheel.

He sank into the kiss, tilting his head and twining his tongue with hers. His fingers drifted into her hair and her nails scratched at his scalp.

Soon, far too soon, she broke the kiss and her eyes drifted open.

"Mm," she hummed, "I needed that."

"Glad to oblige." He licked his lips, savoring the taste.

She let go of his shirt and allowed him to straighten up. She cocked her head and stared at him.

"What?"

"I really want to see you naked."

His jaw dropped.

With a grin Claire pushed past him leaving him bug-eyed and insensate in the doorway.

"Hey Peter!"

Sylar couldn't move. There was no way she had said what he thought she'd just said. Was there?

"Huh?"

"Claire, hey yourself. We were just gonna head out for dinner, you wanna join us?"

"Sure thing."

"Great, hey Sy, why are you standing in the doorway?"


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter. 24

The four of them all but fell out of the restaurant laughing.

"-and then," Peter choked out, "Nathan held a tea-cloth over his ass, looked his secretary dead in the face and said "This is not what it looks like!"."

Claire grabbed Sylar's arm as she bent double. "Oh my god, he did not!"

"Would I lie to you?" Peter grinned. "I swear if mom could have Haitian-ed everyone in that office she would have."

Sylar wiped his eyes. "I'm surprised she didn't."

"There were no law suits so who knows?" Peter wrapped his arm around Emma. "Claire, are you stopping at ours?"

She shook her head. "No, I need to go home and sleep. My boss is a real jerk about me coming in late."

Peter poked her. "Too true. You college kids are all slackers, you have to know your place. You want me to call you a cab?"

He motioned out at the street and Claire shook her head.

"Nah, it's a nice night out. I'm gonna walk."

"Your boss will spring for a taxi, Claire." Peter frowned slightly. "It's dangerous at night."

"I'll be okay," she rolled her eyes at him.

"I'll walk you home," Sylar piped up. "That way you get to walk and Peter gets to have peace of mind."

Claire bit her lip and stared at him. In the darkness Sylar could see the amusement on her face at his transparency. Peter, on the other hand, only knew that she was hesitating and he pushed as subtly as he could.

"Go on, Claire. Either Sy walks you home or I spring for a cab."

Claire rolled her eyes. "All right, dad. Sylar can walk me home."

Peter gave him a smugly satisfied look and a wink.

Sylar just shook his head. Peter thought he was doing Sylar a favor. Since Claire didn't want their whatever it was to be public, Peter was still under the assumption that she needed to be persuaded to spend time with him. He loved playing matchmaker. Either that or Peter wanted some alone time in the apartment with Emma.

Sylar was okay with that.

One good turn deserves another.

He licked his lip. "I might go for a walk afterward so don't wait up."

Peter gave him a look of gratitude and, after their farewells, headed back to the apartment to spend some quality time with his fiancee.

Sylar quickly fell into pace with Claire as they walked through the darkened New York City streets.

"I love New York at night," Claire confessed. "It's kind of scary but at the same time just so full of life- different life than during the day but still."

Sylar smiled. "I get what you mean. It's like daytime is for one class of people and when darkness falls the special people, those lost and alone get to come out and make the city theirs."

She tilted her head and gave him her best grin. "Exactly."

He stepped around a pothole and brushed her hand with his. Claire reached back and grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together.

It was slightly surreal to be walking down the street holding hands with Sylar, Claire thought.

Only slightly more surreal than wanting to just jump him.

She'd been thinking about that Ferris Wheel kiss all day and had been unable to resist going to Peter's place to see him. When it was him who opened the door nothing on Earth could have stopped her kissing him. It seemed like Sylar's lips were somewhat addictive. Whether it was his intuitive adaptability or the fact that he was a thirty two year old male; he knew how to kiss a girl.

He knew how to touch her in just the right place to make her legs feel like jelly and her heart pound. He knew that less was more and tiny frantic brushes against her lips were better than a full attack. He knew that caressing her sides made her ache for him to move those hands up and in and he was too much of a damn gentleman to do that.

He also was honoring her wishes and was doing nothing to make Peter or Emma suspicious, which meant that he hadn't so much as brushed her hand whilst they'd been out.

Unacceptable.

Claire paused in the middle of the street and Sylar stopped, cocking one eyebrow at her.

"Claire?"

She stepped into him, dropping his hand and wrapping her arms around his neck. She had to stand on tip toe to reach and her breasts were pushed against him chest.

He didn't seem to mind, though.

"Kiss me," she demanded and he wasted no time. His head ducked down and he pressed his lips to hers, slanting his mouth to fit perfectly against her.

He wanted to be a gentleman, to show Claire that he wasn't a monster and that he could be the man she'd waited for all of her life. But the part of him that was possessive, the part of him that hungered and was more i_Sylar_/i than any other part just wanted her to know that she was his; that now she had give him the green light there was no way that he was ever going to let her go. He wanted to lay claim to her in every way and force his eternal partner into acknowledging that she belonged to him just as he belonged to her.

He tried to reign in that force, to pull it back under his control but it was no good.

His hands hovered uncertainly over her hips for a moment before the animal broke free of the gentleman and he hauled her closer.

She was locked in his arms and his lips were hard, demanding. But instead of submission, instead of acknowledging his strength, Claire gave as good as she got.

It was a power struggle, a battle to see who would dominate the kiss and the raw heat just made the passion ignite.

Sylar's arms dropped, his hands anchoring against her waist and lifting her, crushing against him as he devoured her mouth.

Sylar stopped thinking, from the instant she had accepted this he'd stepped over the edge into a world ruled by the hunger. He was used to it demanding, screaming at him, bringing him pain and craving for more abilities, more power but now it was screaming for something else; now it craved and demanded and i_ached/i_ for Claire Bennet.

He had to have more, had to take what she was so freely giving and he did. He moved into her, nudged her legs apart and-

"Jeez, get a room!"

They both jumped, clutched each other as the world rushed back into focus and their senses returned.

Sylar was aware of a slow rhythmic noise and he blinked twice to see a gang of teenaged boy clapping and whistling at them. The Sylar part of him wanted to smirk and eviscerate them for even daring to look at Claire. But it was the Gabriel part that won out.

He flushed and let Claire slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.

Claire was delightfully bewildered and had to shake her head twice before she could focus on anything.

After a moment it seemed that she also noticed the attention they were getting and blushed vividly.

"Oops," she muttered and stepped back.

Sylar immediately missed the warmth that her body had provided and wanted nothing more than to haul her back into his arms and carry on. But there was a time and place and midnight on a dirty New York sidewalk wasn't it.

He grabbed her hand and started walking back to her apartment, avoiding the crude cat-calling of the boys.

"Well," Claire said finally, "I wasn't expecting that."

"Or me," Sylar smiled softly. "I told you we had a lot in common, Claire."

"Yeah."

They let the silence comfort them until they reached her apartment. She turned to face him and suddenly chuckled.

He looked askance at her. "What?"

"Why does this feel like the end of a first date when you know that the guy's been wondering all night if you're gonna let him kiss you?"

"And is hoping he'll be asked in?" He grinned. "Maybe because he is."

"Except this wasn't a date." She reminded him.

And it hadn't been. It had been a celebration of Angela Petrelli's arrogance and Luke Campbell's ascension to human being. It had been a dinner with friends and a memorial to Nathan and it had been light and fun and definitely not a date.

"I want to take you on a date," he blurted suddenly, "I want us to go to the movies and eat popcorn and hold hands. I want us to dress up and go out to dinner at some fancy restaurant. I know you don't want anyone to know about us... if there is an us-" a horrific thought crossed his mind "-there is an 'us', right, Claire?"

She blinked slowly. She just looked at him, her expression blank.

Panic rose in his chest. Was this just lust? She had forgiven him and given him a chance but what if that was all this was. He couldn't handle that. He couldn't possibly have her in his arms and not have her love him. That would kill him.

"Claire?"

She took a deep breath.

"I think you'd better come in."

Sylar had never been to her apartment. He had never been invited. He had often heard Peter and Emma and even Angela talk about going to Claire's place or, when she first moved in, saw Peter haul boxes for her.

She had never asked him and he had never pushed, knowing his company wasn't welcome.

So it was with as much triumph as curiosity that made his heart pound when she slipped the key into the lock and finally let him in to her sanctuary.

He stepped inside noting immediately the soft plush carpet and warm yellow of her hallway.

There was a cherry wood table which she slung her keys and purse on and a small section that housed more shoes than he owned. Claire kicked off her heels and promptly lost two inches in height.

Then with bare feet she motioned for him to follow her.

Her living space was just as warm and accommodating as the hallway. Done out in rich jewel tones and luxurious fabrics it seemed that little miss Bennet was a sensualist. The idea made Sylar's lips curve- of course she was. When you lost the ability to feel pain it was only logical that you try to cling to as many other sensations as possible.

She could feel pleasure and she would try to incorporate that into as many aspects of her life as possible. Either that or she just really loved the colors.

She dropped her coat onto the chair and perched on the edge of the sofa, eying him cautiously. She looked so comfortable in her own home, in her own space; it was like all of her walls and barriers just vanished and she became just Claire.

Beautiful, sensual Claire.

He dug his hands into his pockets in a vain attempt to quell the urge to reach out and tug her into his arms again.

"Drink?" she offered and he just shook his head.

"You've got a real nice place here."

She gave him a half smile. "Thanks, it's taken a while but it feels like home now."

There was an uncomfortable silence which stretched taut before Sylar inhaled deeply.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah." In typical Claire style she went straight for the jugular. "This thing between us. I just wanted to see if you're okay with keeping it between us for now."

Sylar shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yes. I understand you want to keep everything quiet right now. I don't want anything to spoil Peter's big day either but I suppose, since nobody else knows, there's a part of me that thinks you are too embarrassed to be seen with me, or that thinks you're just in this for kicks."

"I'm not," she assured him, "this is something and it's been building for a while. I'm just not sure what it is and I want to be sure before we open any can of worms that might include my dad shooting you."

He appreciated that- nothing cooled the blood more than getting shot.

He swallowed hard. "Wha- what do you think it might be?"

He knew what he wanted it to be. He wanted happily ever after. He wanted the fairy-tale he'd stopped believing in years ago and he was starting to hope that he could have it with his chosen princess.

Claire bit down hard on her lip. "I don't know."

Sylar's world shuddered and his face fell. "Don't lie to me, Claire."

"I'm not. I don't know what I feel right now, or even what I want. This situation is new and I'm finding my way here. You can't expect me to have all the answers. I mean, do you?"

"Yes."

She put her hands on her hips, a challenge in her eyes. "Like what?"

Sylar clenched his jaw. How in the hell didn't she know what this was for him? It wasn't like he'd made a secret of his feelings or had hidden what he wanted from her.

Damn it, even _Luke_ knew and he was the most self-absorbed little shit.

Was she really so oblivious?

His silence made her snort. "Thought not. Look," she softened, "right now I just want to play this by ear, okay. I want to get to know you better and make sure that this is something that both of us want, so neither of us gets hurt."

There was something in her voice that made him pause. He tilted his head, allowing his Intuitive ability to come to the fore. There was something that he wasn't quite getting.

Then it hit him.

"You think I'm going to hurt you?" He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Claire bit her lip.

"Claire?"

"I'm sick of being hurt, being let down and being left, okay?" She said defensively. She folded her arms over her chest. "Most guys say they don't mind that I'm a freak but after a while the novelty gets old."

His jaw clenched as he understood where she was going with this. "I don't view you as a challenge, Claire. I'm not going to go off you once we're together."

She said nothing but the disbelief was there in her eyes. It riled his temper.

"You don't trust me."

She shrugged one shoulder. "Don't get mad. I just... can't see why you'd stick around."

Sylar took a deep breath and decided that he had nothing to lose. He laid it all out.

"Because I love you."

Claire sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. "What?"

"I love you, am in love with you, Claire." His dark eyes met hers, captured her gaze and refused to surrender. "I want you. Hell, I i_need_/i you. Not because we're going to be the last people on Earth one day or because we've both got idiots for parents but because you are you. What I want from you? Kisses and hugs and holding hands and admitting in public that we're together. One day I want you to wear my ring and have my kids and walk my dogs and curl up with me at night and feed the damn goldfish. I want us to be superheroes and save the world and get stuck doing our kids' homework and stop bad guys and wear fairy tiaras and be one of those really annoying couples who prefer to be with each other in front of the TV than with anyone else. I want to finish your sentences and watch you sleep and hold you when you cry. I want us to drink margaritas as the sun burns out and I want to start it all over again on a different planet. I want to never grow old with you. I want a life with you. I love you."

The raw emotion made his own head spin and he dragged in as much air as he could. His chest literally ached with the truth.

Claire's mouth was as wide as her eyes. "Oh."

Her dramatic understatement forced out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, 'oh'."

"I... I have no idea what to say to that," she confessed. "I don't even know where to start."

"I'd rather die than hurt you, Claire. If you let me I'm going to stick around forever and I understand if it's going to take some time for you to believe that truly. And I'll give you as much time as you need." He gave her a half-smile and then braced himself. "I will wait, Claire. You said you've forgiven me. You're giving me a chance and, I know I don't even deserve that much and this is all new but, Claire," he took a deep breath, "could you ever love me?"

He waited, his whole body humming with tension.

_Please_.

If she said no it would probably kill him.

_Please_.

The moment grew, stretched until his hands itched and his eyes began to sting.

"You know what?" she said so softly that he wasn't sure he'd even heard her. "I think... I think that I could."

"Yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah."

He shuddered, his knees almost giving way as relief and genuine shock charged through him like electricity. "Good, good. That's good."

She eyed him carefully. "You look like you're about to pass out."

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm fine." His eyes raked her, fed up of talking and wanting to do something else. Claire seemed to be on the same page.

"So," she rocked back on her heels, "wanna make out?"

This time he reached for her, drew her to him and kissed her ravenously, making no secret of how much he needed her.

Claire responded, enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself as close to him as possible, letting her body say the words that she couldn't quite bring herself to voice.

Lips locked with hers, he shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor, then he lifted her. To his surprise and delight she raised her legs and wound them around his hips.

Temptation didn't whisper, it screamed and he was powerless to stop it.

His arms circling her hips, holding her tightly to him, he stumbled the few paces to the couch.

Without breaking the kiss, without releasing her or missing a beat he dropped to his knees and laid her back against the cool leather.

Claire sank into the butter soft leather and felt the material respond to her body heat, molding around her form. And his. Sylar's body was all hot, hard muscle, raw dangerous male pressing down on her. It was the best kind of force and all she wanted to do was rip off his t-shirt and run her hands all over his naked chest.

He had devastated her tonight. His insistent and heated kisses aside, those words had left indelible marks on her soul.

Sylar. i_Sylar/i_ the serial killer, Sylar the murderer, the boogey-man, the psychopathic killer, the reason for nightmares and tears loved her. He loved her, was in love with her and had not just admitted but laid his heart at her feet.

Claire had thought that she'd been through scary things before; after she had survived the reigns of Sylar and Danko and Nathan and Samuel. But to know that she held that much influence over the world's most powerful man was the scariest thing she had ever heard. She wanted to step back and say it was all too much too soon.

But it wasn't.

Bit by bit Sylar had been inching his way into her heart. From the moment he had lost his temper at that rep at the wedding fair, showing that he valued Peter so much, Claire had started to fall for him. She'd fought and rallied against it but it had happened and now there was no turning back.

He'd asked her if she could love him. The damning thing was that she was already falling.

Falling so fast and so hard it terrified her.

Because with Sylar it wasn't just going to be simple and soft and sweet and short-lived. It had been bloody and brutal and bitter and not just a little bewildering.

Love with Sylar wouldn't be a walk in the park.

Unless the park was in Afghanistan. Filled with dangerous animals. And radiation. In hunting season.

She grinned against his mouth at the thought.

It might be dangerous but damn there were perks.

His hand slipped down between them and cupped around her breast and suddenly all thought fled from her mind.

Pleasure, pure and sharp shot through her, stealing her breath and making her arch into his warm palm. Sylar took that as invitation and his long fingers caressed and stroked over her thin shirt.

She forgot about breathing: it no longer seemed necessary. The sensations he was evoking in her claimed all her attention, clearing her mind and giving her over to pure sensation.

She moaned into his mouth and felt his response as he shuddered against her; her delicious writhing pressing him ever closer. His hand left her breast, startling a plaintive cry from her but it was swiftly forgotten as those clever fingers undid her top buttons, flicking them from their holes.

The shirt undone to mid-waist was pushed aside and his hand slipped inside. Calloused hands on satin soft skin made her break the kiss, slamming her head back and gasping at the exquisite feeling.

She bit her lip, groaning in pleasure. There was a light chuckle and she opened her eyes enough to see a purely masculine grin, wolfish and sinister cross over his face.

Before she could do anything she felt the soft brush of his hair against her bare skin, followed by the hot brand of his mouth.

His lips skated over her collarbone, nipped at her pulse point and opened over the little dip below her neck. He opened his mouth and sucked at that delicate strip of skin.

"Oh god," she moaned.

His laugh reverberated against her and she arched more, pushing closer to him. He dipped his head lower, his hot breath ghosting over the upper swell of her breasts. He dragged his teeth down over the sensitive curve and yanked her bra down, closing his mouth over her nipple.

It was like he'd used Elle's power on her spine, her hips jumped involuntarily and she could feel evidence of his satisfaction against her thigh.

He licked and sucked one whilst his other hand reached up, palming the other breast in those hot hands.

"Sylar!" Claire threw her head back and shifted her hips against his.

It was his turn to moan as the action jolted his ministrations making him lose his rhythm. As soon as his mouth left her chest, Claire had her hands digging into his hair, yanking him back up to her mouth.

He obliged, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, mimicking the movement of his hips against hers. He reached down with one hand, holding her hips against his as he circled his pelvis, grinding their lower halves together.

Claire cried out and scrambled to get closer, to enhance that delicious friction. Sylar was only holding onto the sofa by one hand and as she shifted he let go to draw her nearer and overbalanced.

They fell to the floor with a thud.

"Oof!" Sylar had managed to roll them so that he bore the brunt of the fall.

She'd landed on top of him, straddling his thighs, which was lovely.

His head had landed on the hard floor, which was not.

He tried hard to catch his breath before managing to say. "I think we're going to need a bigger couch."

Claire burst into giggles.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N- I know it sounds whatever but I really would like to get 300 reviews for this story. It's my 10 year fanfic anniversary in Nov and I'll be doing NaNoWriMo so it would be nice to have that little buzz. Just saying. No pressure. **

Chapter 25

Sylar was reliving the events of last night. Sitting in his office, his chair tilting backward, he was lost in daydreams of having Claire writhe underneath him.

It had been wonderful. After he'd professed his love he'd half expected her to fully retreat, telling him that she wasn't ready to accept all that he had to offer her. To his delight, however, she'd taken it in her stride and even confessed that she could love him someday. He'd been on cloud nine and then came the sofa.

He grinned widely. Wow.

He'd always known that Claire was a passionate woman; it was in everything that she did and said.

But last night it was as if he'd awakened some seductive goddess who lured men to their deaths by sensual pleasures. She'd stirred him up, assaulted his senses and turned his world upside down and he didn't care. He wanted her to do it again and he had a feeling that even then it wouldn't be enough.

He was only sorry that their little tumble off the sofa had effectively put an end to those explorations. Claire, once she had calmed down, told him that she wasn't quite ready for that level of intimacy with him. Sylar understood; after all they had only kissed a day ago. So he said good night and left to wander the streets until Peter texted him and said it was safe to come back to the apartment.

Sylar grinned at the ceiling as he leaned back on his chair.

Things were absolutely fantastic. Claire knew that he loved her and she hadn't run screaming. She admitted that one day she might be able to feel that way about him. Peter was getting married and Sylar was going to be Best Man and Angela Petrelli apparently had a rotten cold.

Life was good.

In fact life was awesome.

He tucked his hands behind his head and sighed contently.

"Jeez, Sylar, you could at least make it look like you're doing some work."

Peter threw a folder on the desk in front of him in disgust.

"Nope, I'm in too good a mood to do that," Sylar said, not even looking at his friend.

Peter eyed him curiously. "And why would that be? Huh? You came home pretty late last night."

"I didn't want to interrupt your booty call."

Peter grimaced. "Please don't say that... ever. But this good mood must have some kinda story, Sy. So spill. What happened with you and Claire?" He sat on the edge of the desk and waggled his eyebrows at Sylar. "She had to have done something to make you this goofy. Did she touch your hand? Maybe she smiled at you?"

It took all of Sylar's formidable self-control not to inform his brother exactly where Claire had touched him last night and what, exactly, he had done to make her smile.

His lips twitched. "I walked her home. She invited me up and we … talked. Then I walked around the city."

Peter looked openly skeptical. "Annnddd?" he prompted.

"And nothing," Sylar shrugged. "It was nice talking to her. We hashed some things out and acted like grown ups."

Which was the truth. No child would have done what they did.

Thoughts of it made him shift uncomfortably on his chair. He hoped that Peter would drop it, but his roommate was even more curious than usual.

"Okay, usually when you've spent any positive time with Claire, you can't wait to tell me all about it. Now I'm actually asking and you're keeping quiet. What gives, Sylar?"

Sylar gave him a look. "Last night you were in bed with Emma when I got in. I didn't think you'd want me to come into your room for a late night chat. That isn't the kind of threesome I'd be into, Peter."

"Too much information, buddy," Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll buy that. And this morning?"

"It didn't come up."

Peter sat back, folded his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. His expression showed that he was clearly not convinced and he waited for Sylar to cave and tell him what he needed to know.

Sylar was made of tough stuff but the thing was that he really did want to tell Peter what was going on. He wanted to share his good news with his best friend and have someone to sound things off and help him figure things out. But he had promised Claire to keep it between them and so that was what he had to do. They watched each other carefully as Sylar came to a decision. He couldn't tell Peter what they had done but that was no reason that he couldn't lay a little groundwork and maybe give some half-truths.

He gnawed his lower lip and glanced furtively around before leaning in; Peter leaned closer.

"I think she's actually thawing towards me, Pete. She invited me up to her place voluntarily and we... talked about stuff and she says that she's forgiven me."

Peter's eyebrows shot up and a delighted smile stretched from ear to ear. "I knew it, bud!" He slapped Sylar on the shoulder. "It was only a matter of time."

Sylar grinned. "I know. It's early days but it's a start right?"

"Five years to forgive you, give or take. Give it another three and I'd say ask her out."

Sylar's lips twitched but he managed to hold it back. "Three years?"

"Maybe even two," Peter waggled his eyebrows and poked Sylar. "You turn on the charm and who knows?"

"Yeah, who knows?"

"I think that calls for a celebratory doughnut," Peter clapped his hands. "I'll buy. Away to the cafeteria."

Sylar got to his feet but rolled his eyes at Peter's over exuberant manner. "Have you been watching early Batman episodes again?"

Peter winced slightly. "Uh no?"

The tingles down Sylar's spine made him grimace. He reached over and slapped Peter upside the head. "Lie detector, dumb ass."

Peter rubbed the back of his head, just managing to dodge a towering pile of paper that hurried by on two feet. They both stared after it in bewilderment for a second as it turned a corner.

Peter shrugged.

"Sorry. There may have been a small Batman marathon that I may have caught some of yesterday."

Sylar shook his head in despair. "How is it that a sane, rational woman like Emma has been conned into marrying a loser like you? What power did you confuse her with to make her say yes?"

Peter gave him a lopsided grin as they strolled down the corridor towards the cafeteria. "The power of L'Oreal."

Sylar stared.

"No, seriously, it's the hair." Peter pointed to his growing fringe that once again threatened to descend to emo status. "Emma wants me for my movie-star good looks and amazing hair."

Sylar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ask a stupid question."

"You're just jealous because you don't have the power of the hair."

"And yet somehow I'll find the strength to live on."

"Your strength is an inspiration to us all."

The randomness of the conversation finally had them both grinning inanely at each other as they rounded the entrance to the cafeteria.

But it took less than ten seconds for the smile to be wiped off Sylar's face.

Maybe it was his Intuitive Adaptability or maybe it was his highly trained Claire-dar but his eyes fell immediately on his girl- _His girl, _being mauled by that asshole, Ryan, from accounting.

The beach-tanned, bleach-blond surfer jerk had Claire cornered by the sandwiches and was firmly grasping her wrist, plainly ignoring the supreme irritation on her face. There was a lecherous look on his face that stated plainly that 'no' wasn't in his vocabulary.

Anger welled up inside Sylar suddenly, causing a vein-deep thrumming soaring through his arteries, heating up his blood until his very veins threatened to boil and blister over. He'd always imagined the phrase 'seeing red' to be something of a metaphor and it was more than a shock to realize that it was actually possible for a person's vision to take a red hue.

He started forwards before he even realized he was doing it and it was only Peter's sudden- and rather unmanly squeak - that made him pause.

The noise also made Claire glance over the idiot's shoulder and her eyes met Sylar's. There was a warning there- the slightest trace of apprehension but mostly a plea- and one he was helpless to ignore, even though it went against every single part of his genetic make-up.

For Claire he would rewrite his entire base code.

So he did what she begged with those beautiful brown eyes.

Nothing.

Peter, however, hadn't run into a telepath lately, and so when he saw the rough treatment of his niece he started forward, anger etched on his face.

Sylar whipped out and arm and halted him in place. Peter glance down in as much surprise as irritation.

"Sylar, what the hell?"

He shook his head slowly. "She needs to deal with this herself."

"What?"

Sylar swallowed, the words as hard as the actions. "Claire, she's been taking self- defense lessons to boost her confidence in dealing with jerks like this. She needs to be able to fight her own battles."

Peter huffed in disgust. "So what, we let her deal with him? Then what?"

Sylar's eyes narrowed on Ryan. "Survivors are fair game."

-x-x-

Claire had been having a good day. After last night's surprising conversation with Sylar she had assumed that she would be getting little- if any- sleep. She expected that she would be tossing and turning and fretting about the ex-serial killer with a crush. But, somehow, she had let him leave her apartment with a grin on her face that still seemed to be there in the morning.

And it had been a good morning. She'd dressed with an eye towards summer and felt happy as she bounced into work.

Everything had been going so well that it was only time before fate decided to bitch-slap her again.

That annoying jerk Ryan Holden who had asked her out pretty much every day since she'd started working there. And every day she had told him no; sometimes politely but mostly not. Ryan, however, seemed to take that as a challenge.

She queued up at lunch wondering whether it would be a good idea to go for salad as a nod to all of those girls who didn't have the advantage of super-genetics to keep their trim figure or to say hell with it and have the burger that she really wanted.

Her musings were interrupted by a hand sliding smoothly over her ass.

She turned abruptly, cheeks flushed to find Ryan smirking down at her.

"Sorry, Claire, you had something on your skirt."

"Yeah, your hand!" she snapped. "Touch me again and I'll file a sexual harassment charge."

Ryan shook his head. "You know ugly girls made up those sexual harassment laws 'cause they were jealous that hot chicks like you got all the attention."

Claire gaped. "Thank you for bringing the male chauvinist movement back from the dark ages."

"Whatever, babe. Listen I was thinking you, me, j-band up on Freemont, Friday night. Whad'ya say?"

"No." This obviously wasn't one of the polite days.

Ryan pretended to pout. "You playing hard to get?"

"Try impossible," Claire gritted her teeth. "I don't want to go out with you, Ryan. Please stop asking."

He stared at her puzzled. "You a lesbian? Huh, is that it, Claire. You into girls because it's okay if you are," he leered, "_really_ okay."

Claire closed her eyes, praying for strength. "No, Ryan. I'm just _really_ not interested."

She turned her back on him and ignored the salads in favor of the chocolate mousse- screw making other girls feel better. She needed chocolate dammit.

"Ooh, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Ryan leaned down and spoke slowly. "curves are well and good but when fit turns to flab it's just sad. And right now your ass is fine."

She felt a ghost of a hand skate over her ass and her temper exploded.

She whirled on him. "Keep your goddamn hands off me. I'm not interested in you. I don't want to date you and I don't want to go out with you at any point. I'm not a lesbian or a man-hater, I just think you are a sleazy jerk who needs to learn to keep his hands to himself."

"Or what?" he sneered, all trace of seduction gone from his voice. "You'll call daddy? Oh I'm scared."

She curled her lip. "I take it you've not met my dad because that wasn't the appropriate level of fear. He makes guys like you disappear for a living. One call and you'd be irritating the worms instead of me."

She made to walk away but his hands reached up and gripped her upper arm.

"You threatening me, bitch?"

From over the asshole's shoulder she saw Peter and Sylar walk in and knew the moment that they had both seen her situation. Peter's smile dropped off his face and Sylar's easygoing persona melted like butter in the sun. Under the sweet, almost goofy facade that he had been portraying recently lay the sociopathic killer who had just seen his territory invaded and wanted revenge.

It was that look that made her straighten up and tug her arm from Ryan's.

God, she couldn't let him kill this jerk in the cafeteria; for one thing it would put people off their lunch.

"Listen," she hissed. "This isn't a good idea. Trust me on this. Walk away while you still can."

Ryan sneered and leaned in. "I'm not the kind of guy you say no to, Claire."

"No, you're the kind of guy who's gonna end up as road kill if you don't let go!"

Somehow Noah had eventually found out about Claire's run-in with her ex-boss Dirk Ollerenshaw and had demanded that she learn some sort of self- defense. For once Sylar agreed with him and, while the notion made them both feel ill; they wore Claire down until she agreed to take lessons. It was the first of these lessons that flashed into Claire's head as Ryan inched forward.

With a deep breath Claire pulled back and slammed her knee upwards straight into Ryan's crotch.

With a squeal Claire's inner cheerleader was impressed with, Ryan dropped like a stone, holding his crown jewels and whimpering like a baby.

A tiny self-satisfied smile edged across Claire's face even as everyone in the cafeteria stared at the unfolding scene.

"Next time," she said clearly into the silence, "when a girl says no, she means no."

She grabbed her tray and stepped over Ryan helping herself to a well deserved burger and fries.

Her grin exploded as she sauntered past Sylar and a gaping Peter.

"Hey, guys."

Sylar gently closed Peter's mouth for him. "And you wonder why I'm in love with that woman?"


	26. Chapter 26 RATED M

**WARNING**: THE RATING HAS CHANGED FOR THIS PART OF THE STORY. THE FIRST PART IS DECIDEDLY ICKY. IF YOU SKIP TO THE LINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CHAPTER YOU WILL HAVE MISSED NOTHING.

Chapter 26

It was dark and the moon hung heavy in the sky. Slivers of moonlight filtered in through the open window, the slight breeze causing the gently swaying curtains to billow, and the gauzy film casting dancing shadows against the floor.

It was the only movement in the otherwise still room, the sleeping occupant so entangled in her duvet that not even her deep breaths made a ripple in the atmosphere.

The long day had tired Claire out and she had been asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, dropping her into dreams of pleasure and seduction.

A slight smile curved her ruby lips as something trickled through her dream state and caused a purely physical reaction. But the smile faded as soon as it made an appearance as something disturbed her slumber.

There was the creak of a floorboard, an intrusive element that didn't belong, and the alien sound filtered into her subconscious. She struggled to wake as the dream tried to pull her in but she was soft and safe and warm and-

A hand clapped over her mouth and her eyes flew open.

A sneering grin appeared on a handsome face. "I told you that I'm not the kind of guy you say no to."

She opened her mouth to scream but his large hands made an effective seal over her lips. Before she could do anything but jolt upright, Ryan jumped onto her bed. His large bulk covered her and stilled her thrashing; he managed to kneel on her hands, his long legs trapping her own under his weight whilst one hand covered her mouth and waggling a finger of the other in her face.

Helpless and trapped under him Claire continued to rock and writhe on the bed, her mind frantically searching for some way out.

"Tut tut tut, Claire," Ryan hissed, "You should have been a little nicer to me. I mean all you had to do was go on a date and things would have been fine. But no, you had to be all bitchy about it and now you're gonna pay." He cocked his head and one hand shot to his ear in a parody of playfulness that made her feel sick. "What's that, Claire? How did I get in? Funny you should ask." He held up one hand and showed her both his palm and the back in a showman move that reminded her of a magician. He then held one single finger up which rippled and twisted, the flesh bunching and stretching until the digit was spindly and crooked and… key shaped.

"Handy, huh? I don't have to worry about locks or leaving my keys somewhere. All I have to do is concentrate and-" he jabbed it in the air and made a clicking sound with his tongue, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

"Of course my power isn't just fingers into keys. I can contort my limbs into any shape. Any shape at all." With a shake the key-finger disappeared and he bunched his hand into a fist that smoothed together and amalgamated into a solid sphere.

The sphere began to grow, lengthen until it was an oblong, a cylinder and then a baton.

"Very _Terminator Two_, huh?" He grinned boyishly. "Of course I could make it sharp, like a blade but that wouldn't do anything to you, would it Claire? Cut you up, no problem, no issue, you'd just heal. I think we need to go a different direction."

He held the thick baton against her throat and then pulled it down, dragging the neckline of her over-sized sleep t-shirt with it. He pulled it further down the valley between her breasts and down her gently curved stomach to rest just at the apex of her thighs.

She was trapped, defenseless and alone. Claire's eyes widened in horror and she started to shake her head violently as his intentions became clear.

Ryan leaned forwards, his mouth to her ear as he whispered. "No fingerprints, no semen, no DNA and you heal right up like a trooper. No evidence to prove to anyone that this is anything more than just a. Very. Bad. Dream." He drawled the words, his tongue flickering against her ear. He pulled back and his eyes almost gleamed red in the night. His mutated hand started to move. "I bet you wish you could wake up, right now."

Sylar sprang up in bed, disorientated and drenched in a cold sweat that dripped into his eyes, stinging violently. But he didn't notice. His ragged breathing tore the quiet air around him as he scrambled out of bed, his legs tangled in the damp sheets causing him to fall to the floor with a loud thump.

He swore once, kicking off the obstruction, and lurched to his feet, stumbling across the room with his heart pounding in his throat.

_Claire._

His mind fixed on that one word.

_Claire._

His hands scrabbled at the window, forcing the glass open and he clambered onto the sill. His vision was still blurred from sleep and he wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming but he knew just one thing.

_Claire._

_Danger._

_Claire._

And with a deep breath he launched himself out of the window and into the air.

* * *

Claire was rudely awakened by the loud insistent banging on her bedroom window. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped out of bed, cursing as her toes made contact with the book that had fallen off her dozing form.

She lurched to the window, rubbing her eyes as she tried to focus. Pulling the curtains back she blinked wildly.

"Sylar?" Claire reached up and unbolted the window, hauling the sash up as a myriad of questions and scenarios started to roll around her head.

Why was Sylar outside her window in the middle of the night? What could possibly have made him fly halfway across the city to see her- it must have something to do with Peter.

And that thought was what made her reach out and grab him, pulling him into her room as fear gripped her heart.

Sylar all but fell into her bedroom, wild-eyed and looking like a mad man. He grabbed her upper arms in a vice grip, his eyes scanning her.

"Claire?"

"Sylar, what is it? Is it Peter, is he okay? Sylar?"

But he didn't answer, panic was still etched onto his face and his grip tightened.

"Claire?"

She frowned. "I'm right here, Sylar."

"Are you- did he- not really a…"

Claire couldn't make out what he was saying as he started to babble, half started sentences and unfinished thoughts bubbling from his mouth. His hands clenched and unclenched on her upper arms, flashes of heat and light emanating from his palms. Claire could feel the burns splinter and heal and knew that if she didn't have super-healing then she would have some serious bruises the next day.

But she wasn't even paying attention to the slight pain that his fingers had on her soft skin. She was more worried about the sheer terror in his expression and the way his eyes darted from her face to her room and then back.

"Sylar?" she cooed gently. "Are you okay?"

"Okay, okay?" He stammered and shook his head as if trying to shake something free. Then his hands were all over her.

He pulled down each side of her strappy nightdress to check her shoulders, his long fingers running delicately up the side of her neck, turning her head this way and that as his eyes traced over her flesh.

Claire squeaked in shock and protest before she realized that it wasn't sexual- he wasn't groping her, he was checking her over.

His eyes fell on the rapidly healing bruises and burn marks caused by his handling and malfunctioning powers and he hissed, his lips pouting in sadness. He circled his thumbs over the faint marks even as they vanished from her body.

Then he continued his exploration, his breathing becoming easier as he found no traces of injury or blood.

The same couldn't be said for Claire. Her breathing had altered as soon as those long digits had stroked their way over her pulse point and along her collar bone. She tilted her head back to allow him easier access and her blood started to heat when she felt his soft breath against her upper arms, the pout doing odd things to her insides.

His hands smoothed down her legs, over her knees and he knelt at her feet, checking the visible area for damage.

As his fingertips danced over the back of her knee Claire whimpered.

Sylar's eyes shot up to hers. "Does that hurt?"

While she was pleased he had returned to coherence, she was less pleased that he had halted his explorations.

"Only when you stop," she moaned, biting her lip.

Sylar looked puzzled for a second and then his eyes widened as one of his powers kicked in. It could have been his sense of smell, scenting her arousal. It could have been his enhanced hearing, listening to the sudden pounding of her heart or it could have been his Intuitive Adaptability kicking in and realizing that the damsel was in another kind of distress.

He blushed and jumped back, almost tumbling to the floor. "Sorry." He mumbled.

Claire took in a deep breath, trying to calm her raging hormones. "It's okay. Just give me a second." She shivered once and reached back to the window to pull down the sash, allowing the slight breeze to rush over her heated cheeks.

When she turned back Claire was feeling more composed and in control.

"So, wanna explain this? What caused the midnight dash? Is Peter okay?"

"Yeah," Sylar nodded and then cocked his head. "I think so, I mean he was asleep when I left but before that he seemed fine. Grouchy but fine. Emma is doing a double shift at the hospital and he always gets-"

"Sylar," Claire cut his babble off with a smile. Now that she knew her favorite uncle wasn't in any danger she could find Sylar's inability to come to the point kind of cute.

He was adorable when he was flustered.

"Why did you come here?"

He opened and closed his mouth in a reasonable facsimile of a fish before sagging and telling her the truth. "I had a dream." His tone was shy, almost guilty and made Claire melt in sympathy. He ducked his head and continued. "I wasn't sure-" Sylar cleared his throat. "You have to understand, Claire, that I have… acquired so many abilities that sometimes I'm not sure what's real and what's not. Half the time I wonder if I make it rain or if someone says something because I want them too. My reality is a little more…subjective."

"It's okay," Claire soothed, "tell me."

"I didn't know if it was Isaac's power or precognition. Hell I could have empathized with Angela at some point." He shuddered at the thought. "But I saw you being attacked in your bed by Ryan and I had to… I couldn't. I had to come here and make sure." He looked up at her. "I had to be sure, Claire."

"Shh." She reached down and touched his lips, staring into fathomless eyes that begged for her forgiveness and her understanding. "He hurt me at lunch, grabbed me, but you didn't hurt him back."

He looked stricken. "You asked me not to."

"And you didn't," she smiled, "even though you wanted to tear him to pieces. You let me take care of it but were there just in case. Then tonight you thought I was in danger and so you just came over. Without even getting dressed."

For the first time he realized that he had flown through the night dressed in nothing more than midnight blue silk boxers. He flushed.

But Claire didn't seem to care that much. "You came over to protect me. You flew here."

"I did." He stared at her with honesty shining in his eyes. "I told you that I would protect you. I will always be here for you if you need me. Whenever you need me. Whatever it takes."

And he would.

He'd let her be herself and fight her own battles but would be her knight in case she couldn't.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and said the three words that healed him. "I believe you."

He buried his face in the warm skin of her belly and she grasped his head, letting her hands slide into his thick hair.

She leaned down slightly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I believe that you will always be there for me, Sylar. I believe you. I trust you."

She could feel a slight dampness against her belly and knew that if he looked up now she would see tears streaming down his face. Her heart swelled for this broken man who could be claimed and comforted by those few words and genuine affection from her.

She leaned even further down and pressed her mouth against his ear.

"I could love you. Right now I know I want you, Sylar. Stay with me tonight?"


	27. Chapter 27 Rating NC17

**Please note for those under age this chapter is rated NC-17. If you don't want to read it basically they done sex. with powers.**

Chapter 27

He wanted to ask if she was sure, he wanted to beg her not to tease but the thought that she could withdraw her words was too much and he had never claimed to be a good guy.

She could love him. She _could_ and he would show her how much he already loved her.

He clambered to his feet, wondering if the sudden change in position would scare her away, would make her change her mind, but she still looked up at him steadily with nothing but sincerity in her eyes.

He leaned down slowly, allowing her time to pull away before he pressed his lips to hers, hoping that she wouldn't feel the trembling in them; the fear that this was just another dream sent by cruel fate.

But the press of those soft lips against his was so very real and suddenly he didn't care if this was another psychotic break.

He reached up and tangled his hands in her thick blonde hair, feeling the silky tresses sliding under his fingers as he angled her head closer, sucking on her bottom lip, and dragging his teeth against the curve of it.

Claire shuddered slightly in his hands and he couldn't help the smile that curved against her mouth. He dropped one hand from her hair and caught her around the waist, hauling her up against his chest to equal out the height difference a little.

She was so tiny, so delicate and fragile and yet strong. His indestructible cheerleader; a pom-pom with a core of pure steel.

Claire tasted of honey and coffee and toothpaste and he wanted to drown in the kiss, feeling her push back against him, her tongue now exploring his mouth in return. He ran his hands over the silky nightdress that she wore, the satin gliding over her skin as he walked her back towards the bed.

He lowered her to the sheets with infinite care, hoping that she could feel just how cherished she was in that one movement.

He knelt between her thighs as she lay sprawled on the bed, her hair fanned out and her nightdress hiked up her toned legs. He grinned wolfishly at the picture of sensual innocence that she made, splayed on her bed like a virgin sacrifice.

His sacrifice, his innocent.

He ducked his head and traced his tongue over her throat nibbling on her collarbone and slipping his thick fingers under the straps of her gown, following their descent with his lips.

Claire shivered under him, whimpering as more of her flesh was exposed to the cool night air. Goosebumps rose across her chest and arms, quickly soothed by the heat of Sylar's torso as he leaned over her, pressing a quick, almost chaste kiss to her mouth, before following the curve of her neck down the other side and along her shoulder.

She tilted her head back, pressing desperately against the bed as his hot, eager mouth closed around one nipple, tugging with his teeth before soothing it with the flat of his tongue.

"Ohmigod," she whispered, feeling his hands rake down her sides, the soft scratch of satin against skin heightening the sensations, making her shake all over.

And still he went slowly, lavishing the same amount of attention on her other breast before moving down, pulling her gown down as he made his progress along her body. He nibbled her hips and placed butterfly kisses over her stomach, worshipping her with each breath, determined to kiss or touch every inch of her.

He reached the apex of her thighs and grinned wickedly up at her as she caught her breath, staring into those deep dark eyes that had once scared her so very much. A very different type of promise waited in them now and with a mischievous smile he skirted around the one area she really needed him to touch and licked a line down her inner thigh.

She groaned in disappointment at his avoidance only to hiss as he blew cold air over the sensitive skin.

"Sylar!"

He flicked the nightdress off her and threw it over his shoulder before settling back into position.

Claire felt a moment's hesitation as he stared at her thoughtfully.

"What?"

He licked his lips and ducked his head. "_Heat_."

His warm breath and something _more _skittered over her skin. A swell and rush of sensation flooded her and shot straight to her centre.

"Ohgod, ohmigod, what was that?" she gasped.

He grinned devilishly. "_Excitement."_

Adrenaline pulsed through her, her hands clenched into fists as her spine arched. She actually mewled as the feeling and felt his chuckle.

"_Ecstasy_!"

His power thrummed down her spine, pooling between her legs and she tossed her head, the spiral inside her climbing higher and higher. Her vision blurred and everything seemed to speed up as her hands tightened in the sheets. The world seemed to fade away until there was nothing but that coil of heat in her core, growing and pulsing until she came with a shudder and a scream.

She was still shaking as she came down from that incredible high and Sylar crawled up her body with a smug smile.

"Like that?"

"Mmm," she managed and he licked his lips staring down at her like she was the answer to his prayers.

"Beautiful," he said softly, pushing her hair away from her face.

She reached up and with a shaking hand touched his face. "Wow."

He laughed sheepishly. "I've been thinking about that one for a while."

"Anything else you've been thinking of, feel free." She ran her fingertips down the strong line of his jaw with its five-o-clock shadow and then down his neck.

She had always admired his sculpted chest with its sparse dark hairs, wondering how a man that used powers over prowess managed to keep such a physique. Maybe he was gifted, maybe it was the gym or maybe… she should stop wondering and just touch him, feel those firm muscles and the taut skin which stretched over strength and power.

Her nails scraped over his nipples and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes while she explored him as if he were her own personal playground.

And suddenly he was both too close and not close enough. She pushed him up off her and felt a pang at the panicked look in his eyes. Panicked, that is, until she flipped them over and straddled him.

She took her time, determined to make this last. But the emotions that boiled inside her weren't calm.

Sylar was beneath her, his mouth open as ragged breaths caught in the silent air. Sylar was beneath her, the monster who had terrorized her and made her life a living hell. Sylar was beneath her, the man who'd waited and wanted and longed and loved.

He was under her hands and she could do anything to him and he'd let her.

Claire had all the power, all the control and it was a heady feeling to know that in her hands she held- not just the power of life and death- but the power to shatter this man. With three words she could raise him to heaven or she could break him into pieces.

_I love you._

_I hate you_.

And she would rule him.

One thought rose above all others: This was where she wanted to be. This was who she wanted to be with.

Him. The monster. The man. Sylar.

He was hers.

Her mouth suddenly met his with all of the chaotic longing that had been swirling in her mind. She grabbed at his shoulders, pulled at his hair and planted kisses over his chin, his jaw, his eyes. She was restless and urgent as if it was essential that she taste him all at once.

His eyes contained questions as they met hers, but burned with renewed fire as he was swept up in her passion.

Her fingers danced over his muscles and she burned with the sheer strength of him, aroused so much she trembled with the effort of holding herself back.

Sylar had been planning on taking it slow, on being the one in control but she blew that to hell with her ardent ministrations. Fantasies, dreams, paled in comparison. Not even his most erotic daydream could begin to compare to the reality of her. She was so small and so damn soft that he fought to keep from crushing her; more than that, he feared marring her perfection with his tainted soul. But Claire was having none of it. She arched into him, demanding more. Her hands were slim and strong and curious, and need crashed through him like a freight train.

With a twist of his hips he flipped them over and met her eyes. The blood pounded in his veins, swam in his head until he thought he'd explode from it.

"Claire?"

"Please," she whimpered.

The sound of Claire begging him drove all reason and all rationality from him and he thrust into her, keeping his eyes on hers all the while.

Her back bowed and she cried out again, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist.

The new position pushed him in even deeper and the gasp he heard could have come from either one of them

The friction built as Sylar set the rhythm, pushing and pushing until she was writhing in a mindless heap under him, her cries building and building until the wave of an orgasm washed over her body in a tide that slammed into her. She screamed, the sound tapering off as Sylar captured her lips, allowing her tongue to mimic the actions of his hips as he kept pumping in and out of her, muttering her name like a prayer against her mouth as he rode out his own climax.

Claire shuddered and shivered with the aftershocks as Sylar shifted slightly, moving so he wasn't laying all his weight on top of her. He pulled her into his arms as he lay on his back, not letting go of her for a moment.

With a flick of his fingers the covers that had been unceremoniously kicked to the floor came up and covered their rapidly cooling bodies.

Claire tucked herself against Sylar, her head on his chest listening to the strong thrumming of his heart under her chin. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and stroked one long hand over her spine.

Neither of them had anything to say, both full of thoughts and empty of energy, just enjoying being with each other as they drifted into sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

For the second time in his life Sylar awoke with Claire in his arms. But this time they weren't fully clothed and lying on a sofa- this time they were both naked and sticky and sated.

This time there was no passing it off as an accident or the result of beer and bad acting; last night they had sex.

No. Made love.

Sylar cringed inwardly, even thinking the sappy cliché phrase made him feel sick but that's what it had been- at least for him.

He hoped that it had been that way for Claire too. There was a ball of happiness and contentment welling up inside him in the place the darkness used to reside. He could feel the cold guilt and paranoia give way to warmth and a tentative hope for the future.

He hadn't expected last night, had never really thought that Claire would ever willingly give herself to him, no matter how much he had wished it and, despite his euphoria, there was a part of him that wondered if she really had or if he was just dreaming, lost inside some wonderful fantasy or trapped inside his own mind- a warped parody of Matt Parkman's ultimate torture.

Either way- he never wanted to awaken from it.

He turned slightly to see the golden strands of her hair draped over his chest and moved his hands slightly trailing the still silky tresses through his fingers. Despite their actions of last night her hair wasn't sweat soaked. He wondered idly if it had something to do with her healing power but it was too trivial a thought to hold him for long.

Instead he found himself cogitating on the delicateness of her flesh, the satin smoothness of her skin and the scent of warm, sleepy woman that filled his sense and made him shiver with the untapped power that she held over him.

Power was an aphrodisiac, Claire's power was the ultimate high and he could feel himself growing more interested in the hot body resting on him.

As if she heard his thoughts Claire sighed heavily, her breathing changing as she woke slowly. She shifted, her unconscious mind gradually becoming aware that she was laying on a hard male body.

Sylar could almost see her brain race through the panic-fear-remembrance-realization and he waited with bated breath to see whether she would settle on regret or rejoicing.

Claire huffed out a breath and slowly opened her eyes, tilting he head to stare up at him.

A slow smile edged over her mouth and her eyes shone as they met his.

"Hey you."

A sunrise-shaming blast of a smile erupted from his mouth at her tender greeting.

"Hey yourself, sleep well?"

"Mmmm," she stretched slightly, her body undulating against his. "I'm sure I've mentioned before that you make a great pillow."

"My pleasure, trust me. You make a nice blanket."

"I hope I wasn't too heavy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hardly."

"Good." Claire snuggled her head back against his shoulder and kissed his chest.

He wondered if she could feel his heart leap under her lips.

He wrapped his arms around her again and stroked his chin against her hair, smiling as the ends tickled his cheek.

"Claire… are you okay?"

"Umm huh," she said sleepily. "Tired."

He cleared his throat. "I meant with last night. Are you okay with it all?"

Claire shifted up of her elbows and looked down at him from her perch. He tried very hard not to look at the way the sheets had shifted and slid down her back exposing her breast to his view. He tried to not glance down to the enticing view and just to look her in the face. Her beautiful face with its amused expression, like she knew what he was thinking.

She chewed her lower lip for a moment. "Yeah, I'm okay. I meant what I said last night, Sylar. I believe in you and I want to trust you so bad. I do trust you in most things."

He cut straight to the heart of the matter. "You just think now I've had you I'm going to leave?"

Claire shrugged one shoulder somehow managing to make it look classy even though she was naked. "Matter of experience. Most guys get the goods then get gone."

"I'm not most guys. And I'm going nowhere."

"Yeah." Her tone was doubtful and he couldn't help the sliver of hurt at her disbelief. Claire saw it, her heart giving a pang at the lost look on his face. She didn't want to hurt him but he deserved her honesty. "I am trying to believe."

He could no longer resist and tugged her head down for a kiss. He slid his tongue against her lips, begging for entrance.

Claire was only too happy to leave the heavy conversation and get back to the more enjoyable part.

She finally pulled away panting and grinned. "I could get used to that."

Sylar smirked. "You will get used to that. Trust me on that."

"Okay." She moved slightly and then winced.

"What?"

Claire wrinkled her nose. "You know, when we got the sex-ed talk, no one ever mentioned that sex was so… icky."

One eyebrow rose. "Icky?"

"Messy," Claire leaned up on one elbow. "Kissing and licking and sweating and… other stuff. Wet spots and sticky spots and… I'm grossing myself out now."

Sylar laughed. "Sex can be messy. But clearing up after can be even more fun."

A slow smile slipped over Claire's lips. "In that case, wanna join me in a shower? Conserve resources."

"Since we'll be alive to feel the effects of global warming it's only right that we take responsibility now."

Being green had never been more fun.

* * *

It was amazing how much better she felt after a solid night's sleep and several orgasms, Claire thought with a grin as she strolled down the corridors at work.

Rolling out of bed had been hard, leaving had been ever harder, especially when Sylar suggested they both call in sick and spend the day in bed.

Claire had been tempted but, in the end, common sense prevailed.

"I've never been sick a day in my life. If I called in they'd think it was code and within minutes the whole Company would be banging down the door. My dad included."

Sylar had nodded with no little resignation. "And I really hate getting shot."

So after many kisses and false starts Claire had wandered in to work late and set about her daily assignment with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips.

It was still there when she pushed open the little door in room 820.

"Oh god! I'm gonna hurl."

Claire blinked. It wasn't quite the reaction she had been hoping for when she walked in. "Uh, Sam?"

The tall boy looked decidedly green and clutched at his stomach. "This is it, isn't it?"

She smiled slightly, feeling a little anxious at his green tinge. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. No. Not at all in any way shape or form. I'm so gonna be sick. Will they mark me down for that?" He slapped his own foreheads with enough force that Claire winced. "Of course they will. Some agent who can't even handle exams. But tests, oh god, it's like the Kobayashi Maru- can't win any way."

"Unless you cheat," Claire put her clipboard down on the table, which turned out to be a bad idea as Sam took one look and started to hyperventilate.

"I'm gonna fail. I don't test well and I'm a geek!" He raked his hand through his hair, his sweat-soaked palms making his hair stand on end. "What kind of geek doesn't test well? It's like a prerequisite. I'm going to be laughed out of chess club and beaten by the math club and they'll take away my action figures." He shuddered. "Even the guys who play Pokemon will laugh at me."

Claire's lips twitched. "I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen."

"It's always the same, I've revised, I've prepared and then I get in the room and someone hands me the paper and I go to pieces. My last French exam I wrote in Klingon and I got my name wrong on my English paper. My name!" He slumped into a chair. "Epic fail."

Claire knew a little something about exam nerves and stress and felt pity for the poor deluded boy. The room probably wasn't helping him either. It was bare except for the metal table and two chairs situated in the middle. It looked like the interrogation room from every bad cop movie, complete with coffee stained table and dubious stains on the floor.

It was the very essence of intimidating and she could see how he could be unnerved.

"Okay," she said smoothly, deliberately placing her pen and clipboard down on the table. "It's fine. We've got time. How we about we just talk for a while, okay? Sam?"

He nodded tightly and slid into the chair like he had a poker for a spine.

Claire smiled widely at him. "Easy boy, I'm not that scary."

A slight smile tripped at his lips. "Yeah, I have _met _your dad."

Claire laughed. "I didn't say that I didn't come with scary baggage."

"Your dad and Sylar,"

She blinked at him. "Sylar?"

Sam nodded, his whole body starting to relax. "Uh huh, you're totally his Rogue,"

"His what?"

"You're Rogue to his Wolverine. Like he'd eviscerate anyone that even came close to hurting you and he thinks he's not good enough for you but totally is."

"Wasn't Wolverine in love with Jean Grey?"

"Pfft!" Sam waved that away. "Everyone knows that she was the easy option. Rogue was the true love of his life."

"Do you have a love of your life?" Claire asked interested in his answer. She quite liked the sandy-haired boy even though she knew very little about him other than what Peter had told her.

"Does _Joss Whedon _count?" Sam blushed. "No. Not a real girl anyway." He had a self-deprecating look on his face. "Nerds don't get the girl in real life. Besides I was more into comic books and gaming than making out."

"I bet the first time your power manifested you thought you'd won the lottery."

"Actually I thought I'd OD'ed on George Lucas and was ready to check myself into a psych ward." Sam looked at his hands. "It wasn't until my grandma saw the deep fryer run away that I realized it was real."

Claire's lips twitched. "The Fryer?"

Sam shuddered. "That woman believed in fried foods. Fried fish, fried onions, fried cucumber, fried peppers- basically if it could be covered in batter it could be fried. Trust me, making it run away was the best thing to do. Her arteries thanked me for it."

The kid was actually funny under the geekiness. "So you did it for her own good?"

Sam shrugged one shoulder."Actually she was threatening to make liver fried in breadcrumbs. I think it was a spontaneous use of magic."

"Like when Harry blew up his aunt?"

He nodded.

"You think it's magic?" She inclined her head curiously. Most people- most Specials never openly said what they thought the origins of their abilities to be. Once the Company told them it was genetics they just accepted it. It was odd to hear them called magical powers and not abilities.

"Life is magic," Sam gnawed on his lip. "You can package it and label it however you want- evolution, creation, intelligent design or accident of nature, the fact is that no matter how we came to be here; we are here and that's amazing." His eyes shone. "Genetics is just magic explained."

Claire nodded slowly. That was kind of a cool way of looking at things. "So what do you think about the whole powers thing. Accident or design, why do we have them?"

"I've been thinking about that. Any way you look at it we have them because we need them- we being humans. If god gave them to us then it's because he saw a need, in this time, for heroes, for people to do what needs to be done to protect the human race. If it evolved in us then it's because nature required it. For the same reasons, someone to fight against the rape of nature and the destruction of life on this planet."

"So you feel you have a responsibility to be a hero?"

Sam laughed. "I'm not a hero."

Claire sat back in her chair. "But you just said that god or nature required heroes."

"Aw hell no!" Sam waved his hands. "I'm not the hero type."

"You didn't kill Luke," Claire pointed out. "I think that was pretty heroic."

A bright red flush worked its way over Sam's cheeks at the compliment. "It was touch and go after he threatened my _Labyrinth_ poster but I'm not a villain either. I couldn't just kill someone like that."

"So you're not a hero and you're not a villain, what are you?"

Sam stared at the table as his thought about it, his fingers tracing the Bat-signal on the scarred wood.

"Sidekick maybe? I could be the Xander Harris of the Specials."

"Never getting your moment in the spotlight? Always having someone else take the glory and the praise. Don't you want to show everyone what you can do? I mean," Claire leaned forwards, "Okay, I was little Miss Popular, cheerleader and whatever but I did have nerds for friends and I know that if they had what you had, they'd be going Godzilla on us all."

"With great power comes great responsibility," Sam muttered.

"Huh?" Claire frowned. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "Spiderman mantra. You talked about nerds, I'm a geek."

"There's a difference?"

"Nerds are smart. They get A's and have science fairs and stuff like that. Nerds secretly long to be cool and want to be popular. Geeks revel in their weirdness. Geeks aren't necessarily smart and they don't want to be cool because, to them, coolness isn't defined by popularity but by health points. Yeah, sure if a nerd went radioactive he'd turn _Green Goblin_ no problems but a geek- a real geek has read enough comic canon to realize that any powers have a price and if you abuse that power-you pay the price. Geeks would fight for truth and justice."

"Is that why you wanna join the Company?"

Sam nodded. "Like the X-Men and the Justice League and even Judge Dredd, order needs to be kept and I figure that's why I've been given this power- to do what's right. And to help others do the same."

Take away the nerd- sorry- _geek_ references and the little boy charm and you had Peter Petrelli in miniature spouting his do-gooder attitude.

Claire smiled at him. It was kind of adorable.

"You know I saw the thing you did with Luke with the vacuum and the toaster. What's the smallest thing you've ever changed?"

"A computer chip," Sam's eyes lit up. "I made it sprout legs and crawl all over my hands."

"What's the biggest?"

"A car. It was a mini and gave me a headache for an hour after."

She licked her lips and leaned forwards. "But it's kind of like a muscle, right, the more you use it the easier it is."

"I guess." Sam frowned.

"So, if you tried, you could probably work up to something bigger?"

"Probably."

Claire gave him her very best impressed look. "I wanna see! Hey could you do one for me?"

"A what?"

She dipped into her pocket and pulled out a handful of junk. Quarters, gum, keys and a pen. "Animate a pen for me?"

He gave her a boyish look.."Really?"

"Please."

"Okay." Sam narrowed his eyes and focused on the ballpoint in front of Claire. It twitched and seemed to melt in front of her eyes, elongating and warping as it slithered across the desk, the nip splitting and hissing at her.

"Pocket snake!" Claire said in delight as the pen wound itself around her fingers. She tentatively traced her finger across the pens logo and the creature all but purred. "He's happy." She looked up at Sam curiously. "When you made the stuff in your kitchen, it was angry."

"My mood seems to affect it. I can make them calm and cute or angry and attacking. I can change the mood of any of my creations. All except photocopiers; they are just evil."

"That is amazing." She stroked the pen again. "How long does it last?"

"About an hour."

She looked up as there was a knock on the door. "Come in."

Noah Bennet strolled into the room with his customary ease. "Claire, Sam."

"Hey dad."

"Mr. Bennet."

"How are things going in here?"

Suddenly the calm cool, rather doltish boy had gone to be replaced by the nervous wreck he had been before. "Oh god, the test-"

"We've just finished," Claire interrupted.

Sam blinked."We have?"

"Uh huh." Claire grabbed the clipboard and her new pet-pen. "Sam passed with flying colors. Dignified, loyal, pro-active and non-aggressive. He's grounded and realistic but has imagination and creative solving abilities. Has a curious mind without questioning authority and is unlikely to fry his associates. He also has great control over his powers. I'd say he's field ready."

Sam gaped. "You were testing me?"

She grinned. "Sneaky huh?"

"You Slytherin you!"

Claire laughed. "I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"I passed?"

"You passed."

Sam turned his shining eyes to Noah Bennet.

"I passed."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "Well, report to the administrative office to get your paperwork sorted."

"Yes sir!" Sam saluted, realized what he'd done, blushed and then hurried away, banging into the wall as he did so.

Claire giggled. "I think you made him nervous."

"Good." Noah folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the desk. "At least someone around here has the proper respect."

Claire sighed."Dad-"

He held up a hand. "I don't want to fight with you, Claire-Bear."

"Then don't."

"I can't help it when I hear about your choices in associates."

Claire sighed heavily. When were they going to get over this?

"Dad, I'm actually having a good day and the last thing I want is to go ten rounds of 'I hate your friends' with you. I get it, you hate Sylar. I've spent more time with him than you have and I see him differently. Can't we just agree to disagree on this?"

He folded his arms against his chest and used his height to look down on her. "This isn't a political opinion, Claire. Sylar is manipulative and arrogant and dangerous. You of all people should know-"

"Yes, dad, me of all people!" Claire's voice got shrill as she faced off against the man she had idolized as a child. "It was me he attacked, me he sliced and stalked and terrified. I've forgiven him. Why can't you?"

"Because he's a stone cold killer and animals like that don't change."

Claire gathered up her folders suddenly tired with all of the arguing and fighting. Why did he have to be such a hard ass about this? Couldn't he trust her enough to let her make her own decisions? "You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"Chandra. Mohinder. Maya. Alejandro. Nathan. All people that he's befriended and then killed." He marked them off his fingers one by one. "Spending time with this guy leaves you dead."

"I can't die."

"But you can be broken." He nudged his glasses back up his nose. "And hurt, Claire. Sylar will hurt you. He may have convinced Peter that he's turned over a new leaf but he's just waiting until he's gained your trust and he will turn on you. Like he's turned on everyone who has ever loved or trusted him. Starting with his own mother."

Claire shook her head, frustration with the same argument, the same words going round and round, causing tears to spring up in her eyes. "Why do you hate him so much, dad? Maybe because you made him, huh? Yeah I heard about you and Elle and your little experiment for the Company. He would have killed himself if you hadn't interfered. You made him what he was but guess what, dad?" She swiped at her damp eyes angrily, "he's risen above all of that. He's different."

"Let's ask Elle that, shall we. Oh wait. She's dead. He killed her."

Claire froze. "What?"

Noah smirked. "Oh didn't he mention that? Elle was his girlfriend. She loved him enough to run off with him. She trusted him and he killed her when he got what he wanted. There was no reason to kill her. He had her power; he had her trust and her love."

"Stop."

"-she would have followed him anywhere but he was bored with his little plaything and all we found was a pile of ashes on a beach. He immolated her, Claire. She was slowing him down and so he carved open her head-"

"Stop it."

"-even though he already had her abilities and he set her on fire while she screamed."

"STOP IT!" Claire yelled at him.

"That's the kind of man he is, Claire," Noah yelled back. "Why can't you see he's a monster?"

Claire stared at her father in horror, her chest heaving and tears glittering in her eyes. The pain in her expression seemed to get through to him and he stepped back, running a hand over his face.

"Claire-" he started despondently.

"That monster stopped me from being dragged into a vortex. That monster stopped me from bleeding to death. He stopped Danko. He eradicated a global threat. That monster stopped me from being raped. He saved me. He saves me. He's there when I need him and that's more than you ever did." She swallowed hard. "Don't call, don't visit. I don't wanna see you."

"Claire-"

But she was already gone.


	29. Chapter 29

An update? Surely not. Yeah, sorry teh muse died for this fic for a while but honestly i will finish it if it's the last thing I do.

* * *

Chapter 29

Peter was staring in bewilderment at the lists on his desk. "What are these?"

"Lists," Sylar said with a grin, leaning back on his chair to stare at the ceiling. "You get married in three days."

Peter's eyes widened. "Three days? My god, why didn't someone tell me?"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Like we haven't been preparing for this for months, Peter."

Peter grinned. "I know. I just like the drama. So," he picked up the first list. "Tonight dinner with the family- that should be fun. Tomorrow night we have the rehearsal. Then D-day. Wedding day. The end of my bachelorhood."

"To be honest you weren't really doing anything with your bachelorhood."

"True."

"And when Emma makes an honest man out of you, you then have an excuse to act whipped."

Peter's face lit up. "True!"

"Repeat after me," Sylar said, "'Yes, dear,'"

"Screw you," Peter said amiably.

"No you screw _her_." Sylar shook his head. "Am I going to have to give you instructions for your wedding night?"

Peter threw a folder at his head which Sylar easily ducked before going back to staring at the ceiling.

Peter frowned at him and glanced upwards. "Do we have some sort of infestation? Or is the ceiling really that interesting?"

"I gained X-ray vision this morning and the girls upstairs have just shown me what Victoria's secret really is."

Peter fell off his chair. "Really?"

Sylar gave him a frankly pitying look. "No."

"Jerk."

"I'm amazed that you manage to function as a human being." Sylar slipped his feet off the desk. "That level of gullibility is disturbing."

"Is not."

"I bet you still believe in the tooth fairy."

"Shut up."

"Santa's not real, you know."

"Sylar-"

"Elvis is really dead."

"He ain't dead, he just went home." Peter tried his best Tommy Lee Jones voice.

Sylar pressed his face against his palm. "No more _Men In Black_ for you."

Peter perched on the edge of his desk. "You know, x-ray vision is actually quite boring. In movies it allows you to see through girls' skirts but stop at their underwear- surely their underwear would have to be lead lined for that to happen? If X-ray vision worked on the basis of a true x-ray when you looked at someone all you'd be able to see is their skeleton."

Sylar stared at him. "That was almost intelligent."

Peter preened. "Really?"

"No," Sylar smirked. "Sucker."

"Just for that I'm adding the Macarena to the dance list." Peter got up. "You'll have it in your head for days."

"No I won't."

Peter waggled his eyebrows. "_When I dance they call me Macarena_."

"Peter, stop it."

"-_and the boys they say that I'm Buena_."

"I have no compunction about ending you."

Peter continued to speak, his voice getting more and more lyrical until he was actually singing. "_they all want me, can't have me. So they all come and stand beside me_."

"It worries me that you know the lyrics to this."

Peter held one hand out and then the other and then turned them both over before touching his shoulders with the opposite hand. "_A la tuhuelpa legria Macarena_."

Sylar moaned and put his hands over his ears. "I will kill you."

"_Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena_."

"That's it!" Sylar flung out his hand and Peter was knocked against the wall.

"You need serious therapy- you know that?" Sylar said as Peter doubled over laughing.

"D-dude," he gasped, "you should have seen your face."

Sylar shook his head in disgust. "Freak."

They both looked up as Claire walked into the room.

"Hey, Claire," Peter said with a beaming smile, "did you know that Sylar is afraid of the Macarena?"

But she didn't answer- her eyes intent on Sylar. As soon as he'd seen her Sylar's grin had faded. The look on her face was a cross between haunted and desperate and all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and soothe away that expression.

And maybe maim whoever had put it there.

"Pete, can you give us the room?"

Peter frowned. "Claire?"

Claire swallowed, still not looking away from the dark-haired man. "Peter, I need to speak to Sylar."

Peter looked between the two of them and nodded once. He turned and walked out of the door, hesitating only momentarily before closing it firmly behind him.

There was a tense moment of silence where all that could be heard was the sound of breathing.

"What is it?" he said hesitantly.

Claire opened and closed her mouth before taking a deep breath, her hands clenched at her sides. "Sam passed his interview."

Sylar blinked at the non-sequitor "What?"

She swallowed hard. Her eyes damp. "He passed his interview. Flying colors. He's ready to be one of the Company."

Her voice sounded brittle, like she was only just holding it together and he knew that Sam's initiation into the Company had nothing to do with why she was so upset. But she'd get to it in her own time.

"O-kaaay."

"He'll travel with a gun and a badge and collect people with abilities and keep everyone safe. He'll be good at his job and—" tears started to trickle down her face as she searched his expression.

"Claire?"

"Did you kill Elle?"

Sylar felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, all air flying out of his body.

"Claire-"

"Did you kill her?"

Sylar closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Why?" Sylar scoffed, a sort of reckless unhappiness causing him to be terser than he usually was with her. "Why not? She was manipulative and arrogant and dangerous."

She gave a bitter laugh. "That's exactly what dad said about you."

"I might have known Noah was behind this." He clenched his fists and fought the urge to scream. Why was the universe so against him being happy? All he wanted was Claire and all he got were obstacles. "What did he say?"

"You killed her."

"I've killed a lot of people," he said flippantly. "So has daddy dearest."

"This isn't about that," Claire cried.

"Then what, Claire? What do you want from me? Yes, I killed her. I found out that she knew Angela and the old man weren't my parents. She'd been lying to me to manipulate me and I was done with being everyone's puppet. I wanted to become better and she made me backtrack to a cold-hearted killer. So I gave her what she wanted. A killer. Is that what you wanted to hear? DAMMIT!" He swore loudly and slapped his hand at the desk. A lamp smashed against the far wall, sending shards of glass to the floor.

Her lip trembled. "Do you regret it?"

He raked a hand through his hair and stared at her. He could feel that deep dark hole start to open up in his chest; the one he thought he'd filled the first time Claire smiled at him. But now it looked like all was lost- she'd never forgive him for this, never forgive him for his callousness- and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"Do I regret killing her?" He gathered his courage. "Do I regret that she's dead?" He took a deep breath. "No. No I don't. God, I wish I did. For you, Claire. I wish that I cared that the bitch is dead but I don't."

Claire allowed tears to trickle down her face as she stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He looked at his hands. "I want to tell you I had some sort of noble reason, Claire. But the truth is, I forgot. I forgot her." His jaw tightened defiantly. "She wasn't worth remembering. I killed her and I forgot, because I am a monster."

And it was all over. Even from the grave the psychotic bitch managed to screw up his life. He closed his eyes against the pain of losing Claire.

A sob erupted from her mouth only seconds before she threw herself at him.

Sylar's eyes flew open as he caught her in as much surprise as habit.

Claire wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. "I knew… I wanted… I couldn't… oh god ... thank you."

"Uhh… you're welcome?" He patted her back completely bewildered and wrong-footed.

She leaned back slightly so she could see into his face. Even with blotchy red eyes and a runny nose she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I knew," she said again, swiping her hand over her face. "No one has ever…" she took another sobbing breath. "In my life no one has ever been straight with me. My father, my friends, even Peter- everyone lies to me. But not you- never you. You're not a monster, Sylar. Not to me. Never to me. You always tell me the truth even when it hurts. I know- I've always known that I can trust you to tell me the truth, and the idea that you might have lied to me was killing me. I can't…" she swiped at her face again, "I couldn't take it if you ever lied to me. Not you. I need you to tell me the truth. Always. I trust you. Only you. Please, god, don't ever lie to me."

He reached up and cupped her cheek, smoothing away a tear with his thumb. Claire Bennet was a marvel. All she was and all she would ever be and here she was, in his arms, begging him not to lie to her.

It humbled him and he touched her tear-soaked lashes with his lips.

"I swear to you, Claire, I won't lie to you. You can always trust me."

She reared up onto her toes and yanked him down for a kiss. It was hot, it was desperate and not just a little damp but he didn't care.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"One day," she whispered back and leant up for another kiss. "I'll say it back. I will."

"I can wait." He held her close and touched his lips to her hair. He could feel her tears soaking his shirt but he didn't care.

They were okay and they he was going to do his best to make sure they stayed that way.


	30. Chapter 30

To all those of you who have been waiting for new chapters wow, loyalty is your byword. Love you all. here's some more, my muse is actually playing ball today.

Chapter 30-

Growing up being bullied so often had given Gabriel Grey a sort of sixth sense when it came to being stared at. Having the actual sixth sense now- thanks to a cute like Caribbean boy called Arthuro- he was well aware that Peter was staring oddly at him, and had been since Claire had come out of their office with red eyes and a sad smile.

She'd given Peter a hug and walked off, claiming that she had a lot of work to do for Emma.

Sylar knew that he'd been quiet ever since, and there must have been something about his demeanor that screamed "Piss off or be immolated" because everyone had given him a wide berth for the rest of the day- Peter included.

But there was good reason for his mood. He'd had the best night of his life. He'd slept with Claire- no, made love to Claire, and woke with her in his arms. She had been ready to give them a chance to be together and then Noah Fucking Bennet had tried to wriggle his way in with doubts and misinformation and Sylar had never wanted someone dead quite so much in his life.

This, usually, made for a very short lifespan of the person involved. This time, however, that scum-sucking, ass-licking, jumped up, myopic jack-ass was the father of the love of his life.

Sylar had the odd feeling that flaying Noah Bennet alive would cause something of a hiccup in his newfound relationship with Claire.

It didn't stop him from dreaming up various inventive methods for his demise. His current favorite was to turn Noah's penis to solid gold and allow his bladder to burst inside him causing infection and a truly painful death. Or how about sending him back to the Middle Ages in England and allowing him to catch the plague- that would be fun.

"You know, Gabriel, didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to play with your food?"

Of course Noah wouldn't be alone in the middle ages. Angela Petrelli would also find her teeth and intestines rotting from the back death.

He looked up. "She also said if you can't say anything nice; don't say anything at all. Are you going to take a vow of silence?"

Angela pursed her lips and patted her mouth with her napkin before reaching for her wine.

He felt the childish urge to poke his tongue out at her and only resisted because Claire was watching him from across the table.

He gave her a small smile and turned to Emma's mother. "Are you ready to give your little girl away, Mrs Coolidge?"

"Louise," she corrected. "And I guess so. I'm just so glad that it is to someone like Peter." She reached over and patted his arm. "I can't wait until you join the family."

"You know what they say- you're not losing a daughter so much as gaining a son. It's a gift." Peter gave her his most charming smile.

Sylar leaned over. "I'd suggest keeping the receipt"

Louise laughed. "From everything that Emma's told me Peter is worth his weight in gold. I've never known a man do so much for their own wedding. You couldn't get my husband to a wedding-faire if his life depended on it."

"Well, I had my trusty back up team," Peter slapped Sylar on the back. "Couldn't have done it without him."

"Back up team?" Sylar raised an eyebrow.

"Sidekick?"

Both eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Partner in crime? Compadre? Wingman? Co-conspirator?"

"Wife?"

Claire giggled as both men spun to face Emma with horrified expressions. She had obviously been following their argument and had interjected at the right moment. Her mother looked confused and so Emma explained, her hands almost dancing in the air.

"If I had met Sylar and Peter at the same time, I would have thought they were married. They argue like a couple."

"Oh!" Louise laughed in relief. "It's nice that the two of you are so close. Isn't it, Angela?"

Every single pair of eyes turned to the matriarch sitting at the head of the table. Sylar waited with devilish anticipation for the lies that poured from her thinned lips.

There was no way she could say 'yes' and mean it and no way that she could, politely, answer that she wished Sylar would just die a very horrible death and let her go back to manipulating her son without outside interference.

Angela's lips thinned in an expression that was more a grimace than a smile and she raised her glass. "Perhaps a toast is in order. To Emma and Peter: for a happy and long-lasting marriage and familial happiness."

"I'll drink to that," Louise said, "To Emma and Peter."

"Emma and Peter." There was a clink of glassware as everyone toasted the happy couple. There was blessed silence for a moment and then Louise put down her glass.

"So, Sylar, any plans for getting married yourself?"

Peter spat his wine over the table cloth while Angela seemed to choke on hers.

Emma rubbed Peter's back as he tried to catch his breath, her eyes wide and concerned as they focused on a panicked Sylar.

"Uh…what?"

"Well now," Louise said with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "You're a handsome young man. I'm sure you're beating the girls off with a stick."

Angela patted her chest delicately with a feline grin on her face, enjoying his discomfort. "Yes, Gabriel, do tell."

He gritted his teeth and turned to Emma's mother. "Ah, not at this time."

"You're not gay?"

"No." He glanced at Claire briefly."Definitely not gay."

"No girlfriend?"

He wanted to look at Claire again. He wanted to ask her permission to knock the smirk off Angela Petrelli's face. But he had promise to not to do anything that would ruin Peter and Emma's party.

Matricide would probably be one of those things.

"Not just yet."

"Such a shame, you are such a lovely man," Louise sighed. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd try for you myself."

The blush that spread over Sylar's cheeks at her mother's remark made Emma suddenly very glad that she was deaf. Even if you couldn't hear them, parents could be so embarrassing.

Sylar saw Claire smother a grin with her hand.

"Gabriel has always been a lady _killer_, haven't you Gabriel. What was the first one's name? Dale something?"

He ignored Angela and leaned over to grasp Louise's hand. "If you were twenty years younger surely I'd be arrested for cradle robbing?"

Louise giggled. "You charmer, you!"

Emma waved her hand to get their attention and signed. "Sylar would make a good husband and father."

"True!" Peter said hoarsely, sipping water. "You should see him with little Matty Parkman. I swear they are the cutest thing ever. One time Matt desperately needed to go pick something up and Sylar was working there on some Company thing. Matt left Sylar in charge of Matty and when he got back he found the two of them asleep on the couch with tiny little star stickers on their heads and Sylar wearing a pirate hat."

Sylar's face was so red he was sure they'd be able to spot it from outer space.

"Peter, I beg you, stop helping."

"Pirate hat?" Emma signed. "And stars?"

"It was a game," he muttered, ducking his head to look at his plate. "We were using the stars to navigate the treacherous waters but we didn't want to stick them on the ceiling so… can we drop it?"

He peered up at Claire through his lashes. She was giving him an indecipherable look, her eyes fixed intently on him. Once again he wished he had a little of Matt Parkman's telepathy.

"That is adorable," Louise sighed. "Reminds me of your father, Emma. He was always playing games with you."

Peter suddenly sucked in a breath. "Speaking of fathers, Claire, yours has just walked in the door."

They all turned to see Noah Bennet walk into the restaurant with his 'partner', Lauren.

The two of them glanced around, searching for a table.

Noah's eyes flickered over them once and then immediately tracked back. His eyebrows raised and he gestured to Lauren who had spotted them at almost the same time and was walking over.

Sylar turned to Peter. "I'll give you a million dollars if you kill me right now."

Peter shrugged. "Wouldn't take."

Noah and Lauren reached the table.

"Why, Noah, we didn't expect to see you here," Angela leaned forwards and allowed Noah to press a kiss to her cheek.

"It was a last minute decision to take Lauren out for dinner. Have you met Lauren Gilmore? She was my partner at Primatech and now works with me at the Company. Lauren, this is Angela Petrelli."

"I'm aware of who she is, it's wonderful to meet you at last, Mrs Petrelli. I've heard so much about you."

Angela gave Noah a pointed look. "All good, I hope."

"Of course," he said smoothly.

"Then he lied," Sylar whispered. Peter kicked him under the table.

"This must be Peter and Emma," Lauren nodded at them. "Congratulations and good luck with the wedding. Noah invited me as his plus one and I'm looking forwards to it. I've never been to a wedding in Central Park before."

"Well, it is where we met, so it holds good memories for us." Peter put his arm around Emma. "This is my future mother-in-law, Louise. Noah is Claire's father."

"Oh!" That cleared up, Louise smiled widely. "What a happy chance meeting. Why don't you join us?"

"We don't want to intrude," Lauren began but she was shushed by Louise. "Nonsense. There is more than enough room at the table and you're Claire's family and that makes you family… I think. I must confess that the relationships get a little confusing."

"Don't they just?" Claire's grin was patently false as she ignored her father and his girlfriend.

"Let's all scooch up and we'll get the waiters to bring more chairs." Louise held up her hand and a waiter appeared almost as soon as it was in the air. "We have two more to add to the party."

He nodded and headed away in a burst of efficiency.

Claire stood up and moved around the table, standing by Sylar's side, until a chair was slid behind her. Peter edged his chair closer to Sylar on the other side leaving Lauren and Noah to sit side by side opposite them.

"You didn't have to move all the way over there, Claire," Noah said. "Plenty of room on this side."

Claire tapped her fingers against her water glass. "You decided to eat here on a whim?"

"Not really," Lauren interjected. "I've been bugging Noah for months to try this place. I hear they have the best calamari on the planet. Plus I'm a sucker for sticky toffee pudding."

"Me too, although I regret it afterwards," Louise patted her stomach. "A smile on the lips, forever on the hips, as my mother used to say."

The waiters came back and set two new places and furnished them with menus.

As they placed the water glasses down Noah, very gently and very covertly, tipped his to one side and peered under the base.

Sylar sniggered and flicked his eyes to Claire who was also biting back a grin. It reminded him of their breakfast meal a few weeks ago where Claire had compared him and Noah and pointed out that they were equally paranoid.

Of course Sylar had never wondered if his water glass was bugged so, perhaps, Noah was slightly ahead in the paranoid stakes. Either that or he was crazy.

Or maybe Noah knew something Sylar didn't. He eyed his glass dubiously.

Claire poked him and waited until her father and Lauren were preoccupied with ordering before leaning closer. "It's not bugged," she whispered.

"Says you," he whispered back, a grin playing around his lips.

"Don't you trust me?" she fluttered her eyes and he bit back to urge to lean just that little closer and catch her lips in a kiss that would shock them all… and maybe give Noah a heart-attack.

He'd get shot but it would be so worth it.

His intentions must have been written over his face because Claire sat back again giving him a warning look.

"So, Claire," Lauren turned to her with a smile. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, thanks." Claire wasn't sure how she felt about Lauren Gilmore. On the one had Lauren made her father happy and seemed to keep him grounded. On the other hand she was ruthless and reckless and maybe even a little heartless and the ground she kept Noah on was rocky and full of snakes. Lauren was unfailingly loyal to the Company and that was only good insofar as the good that the Company was doing. Nobody needed loyalty towards megalomaniacal corporations who wanted to eradicate the opposition.

Not even Disney.

Claire had the sudden disturbing image of her father in Mickey Mouse ears and shuddered.

"I heard you're working with the Company now," Lauren continued.

"I work in the office doing administration. I like it."

"She's started doing preparatory interviews for field agents." Noah offered somewhat proudly. "She green lighted one just last week."

"How is Sam working out?" Peter asked.

"Fine. He does need a little tweaking, he is, after all, just a teenage boy, but he's doing well."

"And Luke Campbell?" Angela broke in. "What of him?"

"We're keeping a close watch on him," Noah said carefully. "He has some anger issues to work out but he seems to get along with Sam. We're hoping he'll be a good influence."

Sylar wasn't holding much hope out for that. It was a case of the blind leading the terminally psychotic.

"Well as long as stops trying to flash fry people, I'll be happy." Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

Louise frowned. "He fries people?"

"His power is microwave emitter," Claire explained. "It allows him to generate heat and, before he came to us, he wasn't sure how to use it and there were accidents."

"I see."

After Emma had been kidnapped they had to explain the whole supernatural abilities to Louise who, it had to be said, took it rather well. It was probably in part due to the fact that her only daughter was a 'Special' and was marrying a wonderful man with special abilities and social connections. She had agreed to let them know if anyone came into the ER with unusual problems which could be resulting from a manifestation of abilities.

She wasn't stupid or naive by any means but they did want to try to keep the seedier side of specials away from her and didn't mention the fact that Sylar used to be a serial killer or that for every Hiro Nakamura and Matt Parkman there was an Arthur Petrelli and Samuel Sullivan.

"I suppose there are quite a few accidents when you don't know how to use your talents." Louise said thoughtfully.

"That's why we were thinking of building a medical centre attached to the Company," Angela said. "Many of us don't entirely trust hospitals- no offence, dear," she patted Emma's hand and looked at Louise.

"None taken," Louise assured her. "I can see where those with unusual capabilities would be wary of authority. And of being discovered."

"Do you think Specials would be comfortable with a Company sanctioned medical centre?" Sylar said skeptically. "As a previous guest of the medical side of the Company, I have to say, I, for one, wouldn't go within ten miles of the place."

"Oh heavens, I didn't think to introduce you. Do you know Sylar?" Louise asked.

Noah's lips tilted slightly. "Oh, we've met."

"I know who he is."

Sylar frowned at Lauren's answer. "Have we met before?"

"Yes."

He didn't remember her. "Have you shot me?"

"Would you like me to?"

He eyed the blonde woman, wondering at her hostility. He tried to flick through his memory, for any time that he might have come across her, but was drawing a blank.

Of course, her level of hostility could have had nothing to do with anything he'd done to her and was probably down to the fact that she was dating Noah Bennet who, it had to be said, wasn't his biggest fan.

"So you spent a lot of time in the medical facility, Sylar?" Louise asked politely. "I hope it was nothing serious."

"That makes one of us," Noah said with a half grin.

Sylar ignored him. "No, I was just in there for… random testing."

"Testing?"

"Oh, we had quite stringent testing methods at the old Company," Noah piped up. "We checked blood work and ability level to make sure that those with abilities were safe to be around and, of course, excessive personality profiling was a large part of that." His grin turned nasty. "We wouldn't want to have any psychopathic serial killers with powers on the streets."

"Unless they were on the pay roll," Claire snapped.

Noah looked at her with a mixture of surprise and consternation.

Louise seemed to sense the undercurrents as she said far too brightly. "Well, at least there was no danger of that with you, hey Sylar?"

There had possibly been more uncomfortable, pointed silences in the history of the world- but this was undoubtedly in the top five.

Everyone pretended a great interest in their plates.

"Emma," Claire said, patting the girl's hand to get her attention. "Are you all ready for the rehearsal tomorrow?"

Emma nodded happily. "We're doing the rehearsal in the park. We have permission to block the area to stop people walking by."

"Of course, if you had held the ceremony indoors then there wouldn't be a danger of passers by getting in the way."

"Mom!" Peter rolled his eyes. "We've had this talk before. This is our wedding. Me and Emma. We have what we want and that makes us happy. Deal with it."

Angela held her hands up. "All right dear, I simply want what's best for you. I always have. Like any mother. Any decent mother."

Sylar saw her cast a quick glance at him.

"And you, Emma, to have a mother like Louise who didn't even blink when she found out her daughter had abilities. I have to commend you, Louise, I know not every parent would be delighted that their child was so… _special_."

Louise blushed. "Well, I always knew Emma was special. It just turned out that she had a little more to her than even I expected."

"I suppose every mother thinks her child is _special_."

Sylar gritted his teeth.

"Not every mother," Noah said, "in our line of work we meet those who are afraid of their children when they exhibit such abilities. There are those who envy, ridicule or even hate and fear their children. Of course, some with good reason. Not every child turns out like Emma, Claire or Peter. We know of several examples where a child just couldn't handle the power or responsibility and just snapped. Leading to damaged adults who are so savage that they are barely human."

Claire's tiny little hand crept under the table and gripped Sylar's leg. Her touch was a soothing balm to him and he rested his own hand over the top of hers and tried to calm down.

He would be helping no one if he incinerated Noah in front of company.

Claire spoke up quickly. "This isn't really dinner time conversation and I'm sure Louise is bored."

"Not at all," Louise sat forwards. "I did my major in human psychology and was going to go in Psychiatry. I find it fascinating that you can see patterns in behavior from a very early age. It must be even more apparent in those who have these abilities. Especially when those who have these powers reproduce. Are they shaped by their environment, by their genes or by experiences?"

"Genes have to play a large part in it, wouldn't you say, Noah?" Angela sipped her wine, looking more and more smug with every passing comment. "The father and the son."

Sylar's temper began to boil as he could see the direction this was taking. He could feel his control on some of his powers slip as his hands began to heat up. He tried to pull away but Claire held tighter.

Noah smiled benignly; very aware of what this conversation was doing to Sylar. "Of course, for instance- I can't give you names. But one child was separated from his father and mother at birth. That father was a complete sociopath with homicidal tendencies. The child never met the father and yet, once his own powers manifested, ended up the same way. Sociopathic, homicidal and monstrous. Damaged."

Sylar had had enough; he could feel electricity start to crackle around his fingertips and heard the sharp intake of breath as Claire felt the current.

"Look-" he began but was stopped as Claire erupted.

"Of course, dad, that wasn't completely genetic, was it? I read that case file and, from what I can gather, there were outstanding forces that had an effect. The child in question was brought up in a strict household and was manipulated by those who were just waiting to grasp any hint of his pathology. If those members hadn't acted as a catalyst it is entirely possible that the child would have grown up normal. Sylar," he jumped as she squeezed his hand. "You have something on your face, you should go wash it off."

He swallowed hard and nodded, trying to keep his temper as he backed away from the table. He stumbled to the bathroom, barely holding onto his composure as he almost knocked into a waiter.

When the bathroom door had swung shut he scanned under the cubicle to make sure there was no one there before letting out a low growl and allowing the electricity to dance over his fingers.

His body was hot and he knew that the radiation in his veins from Ted Sprague was heating up. As much as he wished a hideous death on Noah and Angela he didn't want to poison an entire restaurant.

He tried to reign it back in but all he could hear was Angela and Noah's voices in his head.

_Damaged._

_Savage_

_Barely human_

_Sociopath_

_Special._

_Mama's special boy._

And just like that he was back in Virginia's kitchen being told that he wasn't her special little boy any more. He was a monster.

A killer.

Evil.

Demonic.

Worthless.

A nobody.

Just like his father.

Sylar grabbed his head, trying to stop the voices from driving him crazy.

He lurched forwards, needing something to grab hold of and fell against the sink which began to ice over.

"Crap," he panted, breaking his frozen fingers free of the snow-covered basin. He stared at his fingers, watching as the blue tinge faded to pink and then an angry red before glowing white hot.

The fluorescent lights above him flickered on and off.

A bulb popped loudly and then burst, scattering a shower of sparks through the air. But Sylar didn't even notice. He was too busy watching his hands shift and change. White hands, black hands, male hands, female hands, long fingers, workers hands, short nails, manicured nails.

He clenched his hands- not _his_ hands- into fists, feeling the nails bite against his palms.

The door to the bathroom swung open and Sylar gasped, flinging up a hand to stop whoever was coming in from getting hurt.

Peter barely dodged an electrical spark. The blue current drilled into the door where Peter's head had been, leaving a charred, smoking hole.

"Peter!"

"Whoa, Sylar, buddy." Peter dashed forwards, grabbing Sylar's hands and holding them down. "Are you okay?"

"I can't stop it." Lightning danced across the floor, crackling between the urinals.

"Sure you can," Peter looked his in the eye. "I know you can and I know you have every right to be pissed. Hell, right now Claire is ripping Noah and Mom a new one."

That made Sylar smile a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Peter grinned. "Now, let's try those breathing exercises Mohinder was talking about, okay pal?"

Back at the table Claire had watched Sylar leave and then given Emma a meaningful glare. Emma was an expert at body language- obviously- and had asked her mother to accompany her to the bathroom, leaving Claire with Peter, Noah, Lauren and Angela.

"So Claire-bear-" her father began.

"Don't 'Claire-bear' me, dad, what the hell are you doing?" she spat.

"I don't know what you mean."

"That's crap," Claire snapped. "Going on about specials and being like his father. I'm not stupid and neither is he."

"What she said," Peter agreed. "Sylar doesn't deserve this."

"Doesn't deserve this?" Noah laughed hollowly. "Wow, he's really got you under his spell, hasn't he? He deserves way more than teasing and you know it."

"Teasing?" Claire was incredulous. "You're bringing up his childhood trauma and you call that teasing? Leave him alone!"

"Since when are you his champion, Claire?" Lauren asked.

Claire raised her chin defiantly. "Since you guys showed up and started acting like jerks. So he made mistakes in the past, haven't we all? Hands up if you haven't killed someone."

She watched them carefully. Peter was worried about Sylar- his eyes flitting to the bathroom door. Lauren looked slightly discomforted but her father and Angela Petrelli were unrepentant and dismissive.

"What's this really about, Claire?"

She glared at her dad. "What it's about, dad, was that you were attacking an ex-serial killer with super-powers and emotional issues. What if he decided 'screw it; they're not going to accept me so I'll return to my lobotomy days'. Or, hey, how about him losing his temper and going all Ted Sprague on the joint?" she shook her head. "It's like kicking a sleeping tiger because he's got his eyes closed and then getting mad when he bites your leg off. How about you take a leaf out of Sylar's book and try acting like a human being for five minutes. He was managing to make polite conversation- why can't you?"

"Why? Because I hate seeing my daughter being so comfortable with a damned serial-killer."

"Ex!" Claire shouted.

"Claire." Peter flicked his eyes to the rest of the room who were covertly staring at their table.

Claire lowered her voice to a harsh hissing which was no less vehement for its lack of volume. "And he was what he was because of you. In all of this- dad, Angela- you're forgetting that you made Gabriel Gray into Sylar. If you had just left him alone none of this would have ever happened. All the people he's killed, all the bad he's done, is on your heads. His body count is your fault." Her face reddened. "You pretended to be his friend, his mentor- his mother! You screwed with his head, his heart and his emotions ten ways to Sunday and now you get mad when he turns around and actually makes something of himself?"

The lights in the restaurant flickered slightly. They all looked up at the lights and then towards the bathrooms.

Peter paled. "I'm gonna go check on him, you got this, Claire?" He got up from his seat and hurried off.

The three of them stared at Claire who dragged in a deep breath. "I want to say screw you all and walk out of here but this little dinner is for Peter and Emma. Sylar is their best man and I am their maid of honor. They chose us. We're needed. You guys- not so much. So here's your choice. One- you keep baiting Sylar- he gets mad, takes out half of New York, you ruin Peter and Emma's wedding and I never speak to you ever again. Or two," she gave each of them a hard look, "you shut up, ignore Sylar, and we all pretend to be one big happy family for Louise. No one insults anyone, Emma and Peter have the wedding they want and no one dies. Which is it going to be?"

All three of them has faced off against things bigger, stronger and scarier than an ex-cheerleader who barely came up to their shoulders but there was something about Claire that made them think twice about getting on her bad side. There was something in her eyes that was just edging towards a reckless kind of craziness.

It was the expression of someone who had looked at death and laughed in his face; someone who knew that they were truly invincible and would outlive and outlast any consequences of her actions.

"I can play nice," Lauren said, hiding a shiver.

Angela sniffed. "Very well, dear."

Claire waited for Noah to agree. He was a much harder nut to crack that Angela but the threat- the very real threat-of his little girl never speaking to him again was something that he didn't want to imagine. As hard as it was to see her being friendly with a serial killer the alternative of having her out of his life and beyond his control was something that he couldn't quite stomach.

"All right. But I'll go on the record as not liking you so close to Sylar.

"Your concern is noted and ignored." Claire raised her chin. "I know you want what's best for me, dad, but you don't get to decide what that is. In ten years, twenty, a hundred, a million, I'll still be around and, like it or not- so will Sylar. Am I supposed to ignore the one person who knows what I'm going through long after you've turned to dust?"

Noah paled.

"I'm done arguing about this." Claire looked up as Emma and Louise came out of the bathroom, swiftly followed by Peter and Sylar.

She noted the way that Sylar looked flushed and shaky and cursed her father and her grandmother for their interference. Like Sylar hadn't been through enough at their hands, now they wanted to bully him too?

Not on her watch.

As he slid in next to her she darted her hand beneath the table and gripped his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

He held tight and breathed out a sigh of relief at her support.

Feeling distinctly militant Claire turned to her grandmother. "So, Angela, why don't you tell us about your plans for the Company?"


End file.
